


The Melting of the Silver Snow

by GenkiGirl



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Spoilers, fic chapters more or less correspond to game chapers, vague mentions of counselling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23501407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenkiGirl/pseuds/GenkiGirl
Summary: Seteth isn't a great fan of the new professor at first, but but as dangerous events transpire and the casualties start to mount, they find themselves drawn closer together...Silver Snow route, slow burn Setleth. Fills in the gaps for how Byleth and Seteth bond and grow closer in between the moments shown on screen.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 36
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

Only a few days had passed since Byleth first came to Garreg Mach. She and Jeralt had flitted around from place to place over the years, never stopping for long, and certainly never long enough to truly call anywhere home. The idea of staying at the monastery for at least a year, never straying too far, and seeing the same faces day to day was incredibly strange to her; stranger still, that she should spend the coming year instructing the next generation of Fódlan's nobility in the art of tactics and warfare. After brief introductions with the church officials, she had been left to her own devices. Finding it awkward to mingle among the students - many of whom already knew each other - before term started, and feeling a little daunted by the archbishop and her followers, she had kept mostly to herself. Quiet places and dull moments were hard to come by within the bustling walls of the monastery, and she found herself missing the solitude of travelling with Jeralt.

Byleth had been assigned to teach the Black Eagles house, the sons and daughters of the Adrestian Emperor and his court, and was unfamiliar with many of the names and details laid out before her on the register. Sat in the common room, she had finally found a quiet place to contemplate the documents given to her by Rhea, and had only a few days to make sense of it all before she would be expected to draft lesson plans and begin her new life as a professor at the most esteemed academy on the continent. She felt the weight of such massive pressure - within such a short span of time she would have to study Brigid hunting techniques, combat from horseback, the various schools of magic - not to mention the intricacies of Adrestian nobility, and the names and titles of the parents of these children. She had plenty of battlefield experience, of course, but that was practical, hands-on experience that she was ill-equipped to translate to the classroom. 

She had contemplated seeking out the other professors - based on the little she knew of them, Manuela had spent most of her life in the Empire, and Hanneman would surely have extensive knowledge of nobility. At worst, they each had teaching experience at Garreg Mach, and could at least help prepare her for the coming semester. Feeling frustrated after staring at names like "Bergliez" and "von Hevring" for so long and absorbing nothing, she gathered her papers. She would inspect the offices, hoping to catch one of the more experienced professors at a free moment for some guidance.

The midday sun shone through the tall, stained glass windows of the main building's upper floor, and yet Byleth shivered. The monastery always felt a little too cold for her. So used to tumbledown towns and shanty villages, she found herself missing the character of those places. She'd take a boisterous, rickety inn over the hushed whispers and cold stone walls of the monastery any day. To add to this, she had never been one for Seiros, and the church's teachings were so unfamiliar to her. She seemed to be accepted here nonetheless, but she still felt incredibly out of place as an agent of the archbishop herself.

Turning the corner to the faculty offices, she peered through the open doors to find both the infirmary and Hanneman's office empty. Disgruntled, she walked past Seteth's office completely, before stopping herself suddenly. Seteth did not teach any particular class, but she had been briefed on the seminars that were held every weekend, and Byleth knew that he was involved in running them. Even if he couldn't provide insight into the inner workings of Empire nobility, she was sure he could help her with the intricacies of lesson planning and oration. She walked back to his office to find Seteth sat at his desk, absorbed in paperwork. She gave the door a quick, polite double-tap and he looked up. She saw his expression fall as he realised who was knocking.

"Ah, Byleth. How can I be of assistance?" His tone was polite, but strained.

"Good afternoon, Seteth. I was wondering if you could help me with some of my new duties?" Byleth made her way into the office, still clutching the paperwork she had set aside earlier. 

"What is it that you need?" 

"Well, I am quite lost." Byleth sighed, and moved to show him her documents; the student register, and her failed attempts at charts and diaries. "I'm not yet used to teaching, and I'm finding it difficult to remember all these students, and what they should be learning, as well as planning what I should be instructing to whom and when... Rhea told me that you hold seminars, so I thought-"

"Lady Rhea," Seteth interrupted, "has the best of intentions, I am sure. But I am no teacher, and in fact I am quite preoccupied at this moment. If it's guidance you seek, I'm sure that either Manuela or Hanneman would be eager to help. Good day." With that, he returned his attention to the papers laid out before him on his desk.

Byleth stood for a moment in shock at being shut down so quickly. Ever since she had arrived, Seteth had been distant and distrusting towards her. He was the only faculty member to treat her so coldly, and she had not the faintest idea of what she had done to earn his ire. Even now, as she stood above him, he was pointedly ignoring her. She could hold back her frustrations no longer.

"Why is it that you hate me, Seteth?" At this he flinched, and she finally had his full attention.

"I'm sorry?"

"I've not even been here a week and you seem utterly set on making me feel unwelcome." Byleth tried to keep her tone even and restrained, but wavered slightly, a rare moment of audible frustration. Seteth sighed and set his papers aside.

"You are a stranger to all of us here at the monastery. I do not hate you, rest assured. I simply... do not trust you."

"And yet the others - none of whom know me - all seem to be willing to set _their_ distrust aside to work with me. If I am to spend the next year here, surely it would be better if we-"

"The others do not have family also residing at the monastery." He interrupted her once again. "You are aware, of course, that I have my sister to watch over. It is hard to justify allowing mysterious mercenaries to wander the grounds of this most sacred of places when there are those living here that I must protect." He met her gaze, challenging her. Byleth bit her lip in frustration. She knew it was best not to antagonize him, especially considering the time she would have to spend working alongside him; and yet she was never used to dealing with people like this. She had always been one to speak her mind, and back when it was just her and Jeralt she had never had to worry about consequences beyond the occasional tavern brawl. And yet, she thought, Seteth had shown her no such courtesy, so surely her efforts in etiquette would be wasted on him.

She hesitated for just a moment before asking;

"Rhea trusts me. Do you not believe in her leadership?" Seteth's whole body tensed up at that. A scowl briefly flickered across his face, but he quickly regained composure; not quick enough however, that Byleth didn't notice. She had hit a nerve.

"I do not claim to know the inner workings of Lady Rhea's mind." Seteth spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "She is familiar with your father, so she may see you differently. To me, you are a stranger." A long pause followed, and a cold silence descended over the room. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "A potential threat."

Byleth knew when she should pry no further, and that boundary had been crossed long ago. Realising a little too late that she had just made a sure enemy before the start of her first term, she held her tongue. She simply nodded;

"Very well then. I shall leave you to your work. You are ever so busy, after all." Seteth gave no response but a dark stare as she left the room. It was not until she had turned the corner at the end of the hall that she heard the door to his office slam shut.

She had a very long year ahead of her.

\- - -

The late morning sun filtered through the windows into Byleth's quarters. After being rebutted by Seteth yesterday, she had wasted her afternoon trying to get to grips with planning the first week of lessons. It was no use, however - she still felt lost. Her mind kept wandering, and she found herself once again longing for the freedom of the open road. Deciding that perhaps a walk in the sun and some fresh air would clear her mind, she set down her work once again, setting off for a stroll around the grounds of the monastery.

A fresh spring breeze carried the scent of budding flowers from the greenhouse as Byleth made her way towards the market. Taking a route past the student dormitories, she felt eyes on her back, and could almost make out the giggles and whispers of the new students as she walked past them; many of them were using the time before the new term began to get to know each other. She strode by with confidence, her head held high - although she still felt uneasy and unwelcome. Well aware that she was still the mysterious, young professor to the children here, Byleth couldn’t help but feel the weight of their suspicious glances and hushed tones as she passed by. The feeling was all too familiar - she was used to such a reception after showing up in small towns with Jeralt - and it was never pleasant.

Byleth’s mind wandered as she marched. She wondered what they all thought of her - she wondered if they knew of her past, or the name that seemed to follow her wherever she went; “Ashen Demon”. The thought of the richest children in the empire answering to her felt like a joke. As she thought about her new charges, she couldn’t help but compare to her own childhood. Constantly travelling, never staying in one place for long; by the time she was their age she had given up on making friends altogether. The mercenary band was all that mattered, fighting would put food on the table, would keep them all alive - it was all she had ever known. But for a moment, she considered how she would feel, enrolled at a grand academy for the best in Fódlan, how her students must feel - she would have been so excited, and they must be so excited. She felt a pang of guilt at not being more prepared for her class.

The buzz of the marketplace drowned out her thoughts, snapping her back into the moment. She’d visited markets all over the continent, from the remote mountain villages in the cold northern reaches of Faerghus to the bustling metropolis of Enbarr, and they were all the same - the crowds, the noise, the pickpockets - a familiarity that she now felt so desperate for. 

The offerings at Garreg Mach were not impressive, but there were still plenty of interesting stalls to browse. Byleth found herself engrossed by the vulneraries and concoctions of varying strengths on sale at a particular stand; such elixirs were always useful to keep close by. A sudden flash of inspiration hit her - battlefield medicine was a useful skill for everyone to learn, and she was definitely familiar with the topic. Granted it may be a little much for the first week, but Byleth decided to stock up on potions nevertheless. Picking out a selection of different vials and glass bottles, she already had a plan forming in her head. Her confidence piqued - perhaps she could do this after all. As she finished paying - using her new allowance from the church, no less - a clear voice cut through the din.

“Professor!” Manuela’s singsong tone was unmistakable. Byleth turned quickly, arms full with her new purchase, to find the other professor approaching. “I hope you’re not planning to need those any time soon?”

“Professor Manuela! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Manuela gestured for the two of them to walk together, and Byleth followed. “I actually thought that these could be useful to teach the students about medicine.” Manuela giggled.

“Oh? On their first week at the academy, you’ll teach them that they’re expected to save each other’s lives in the thick of battle? Will you also describe to them the horrors of war?” Byleth grimaced. She knew it had been too heavy a topic to start with.

“Well… Better too early than too late, I suppose?” She tried to make light of the situation, but she felt hopeless. This had been her only good idea in days. But since Manuela was here, she thought she may as well ask, “What do you usually start with?”

“I’m sorry?”

“In the first week, I mean, when you have new students. What do you usually teach them?” Manuela thought about her response for a second as they headed away from the market.

“I suppose I just let them settle in. They’re always so _energetic_ on their first week - getting used to life away from the noble estate for the first time. I find that they usually just wear themselves out.” Byleth looked up at her incredulously. “It’s the truth! You’ll see - they won’t listen to anything you have to say for at least a month, anyway.” She must have looked incredibly lost, because Manuela finally took pity on her. “Oh alright - if you need some help with teaching the little darlings, come by my office later this afternoon. I’ll dig out last year’s notes for you.” 

Byleth felt relieved. It had taken nearly a week, but finally someone at the monastery was willing to help her learn how to teach. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

**\- - -**

The infirmary door stood open as usual, and Byleth found Manuela digging through a box filled with disorganised papers and dog-eared notebooks. She knocked politely as she entered, and Manuela jumped in shock.

“Oh, it’s you! Do come in professor, I have what you were looking for - lecture notes!” Her voice was a little more gleeful than usual.

Byleth examined the box she had presented, as Manuela triumphantly took a seat, producing a half-empty decanter containing a suspicious-coloured liquid. As she began to pour two glasses, Byleth thumbed through the contents of the box, but stopped herself when the smell of the beverage reached her.

“Professor Manuela, is that… wine?” Manuela nodded and let out a girlish giggle. “But the sun is still up…”

“Oh professor, don’t be a stick in the mud! The term hasn’t started yet, and besides, we need to treat ourselves while we still can!” She gave an exaggerated wink.

“How long have you been drinking?” 

“Oh, only since I got back here. While I was searching for last year’s notes, I found this _exquisite_ vintage and I simply couldn’t help myself.” Byleth made no comment, simply looked down in disbelief.

“Since you got back - from the market? That was hours ago!” She was exasperated. After struggling for days she had finally found a mentor, she had finally found a ray of hope - and now, this. Manuela offered her the second glass.

“No.”

“No?”

“I mean, no thank you.” Manuela faked a pout. “Thank you for the notes, professor, but I really do need to work this evening. Do you mind if I take these back to study?”

“Of course, but it’ll be a dull evening without company.” She heaved a sad, lonely sigh. Byleth took the box and made to leave. “If you find yourself growing bored, professor, do spare a thought for me - alone, on a fine evening such as this, with only Hanneman for company…”

Byleth gave a quick nod and made her exit swiftly, leaving Manuela to her drunken lamentations.

**\- - -**

Notes were sprawled all over Byleth’s desk, bed, and any other flat surface she could find. She sat with her head in her hands. The dying rays of the setting sun glinted through the windows of her quarters, casting long shadows. Rubbing her eyes, Byleth straightened herself and delved into the box once more. She pulled out another messy pile of papers, and set to studying them.

It was utterly hopeless. The words on the page were barely legible, and where she could make out odd phrases or diagrams, they made no sense in context. There was no order to them that she could decipher, and after hours spent working at trying to categorise and translate what Manuela had given her, she was ready to give up. She felt as if she knew less about teaching now than she did a day ago. Byleth lit a candle and stared down at the seemingly random scribblings before her. She wondered if Manuela really taught her classes using these - to her, they seemed like the scrawlings of a madwoman.

Consigning herself to failure, she started to clean the room, placing the notes back in their box haphazardly - she doubted that there was any method to their filing in the first place. Just as she was finishing up, there came a gentle knock at the door. Curious as to who would be searching for her so late in the evening, she opened it to find - to her surprise - Seteth stood before her, holding a slim notebook. She simply stared up at him blankly for a few moments, before he broke the silence.

“Professor… I hope you’re well?” His tone was measured, but he seemed uncomfortable.

“Why are you here, Seteth?” After another long day of failing to be productive, she couldn’t help but come across a little bluntly.

“I, ah…” He peered past her into the dim of her room, where a few stray papers still littered the floor. “Are those Manuela’s notes?” Byleth followed his gaze.

“They are; how could you tell?”

“I’ve worked with her long enough.” He replied grimly. “Are you truly finding those helpful?”

“To be perfectly honest with you - not at all,” Byleth sighed, “although I appreciate that she tried to help me. Tell me - is she often inebriated in the middle of the day?”

“Only when she can afford to be.” A flicker of a smile crossed Seteth’s face. “I have something that could be of use to you - may I come in?”

Byleth nodded and stood aside, letting him in and closing the door behind him. Seteth pulled a spare chair up to her desk and they sat, as she cleared a space for him to set his book down. Seteth started to flick through the notebook as he spoke, avoiding eye contact.

“As I understand, you were having difficulty with the names and specific needs of your class. After our… brief conversation yesterday, I took it upon myself to transcribe some brief histories of the noble houses of Adrestia, as well as suggestions based on those histories of what subjects each student may seek to excel in. This information-”

“Wait, Seteth - you did all this for me?” Byleth stared down at the neat rows of handwritten notes in the book before her, complete with diagrams of crests and family trees. It was clear that he had spent time and care preparing these for her.

“As I was saying; this information is all available in the library, if you had cared to look.”

Byleth decided to try her luck.“Did you, perhaps, regret our _talk_ yesterday?”

“What I regret,” Seteth sighed, “is that the reputation of the Officer’s Academy may suffer if a teacher shows up to the first day of class utterly unprepared.” Although he avoided her gaze, Byleth simply raised an eyebrow at him. “And of course there is no one else here capable of helping you with this. Hanneman is far too engrossed in his peculiar study of crests, and Manuela - well, you’re familiar with the problems there.” At this, Byleth scoffed.

“Of course Seteth, you are my only hope.” Byleth couldn’t resist the urge to respond sarcastically, much to Seteth’s irritation.

“If you prefer, I could simply take my notes and leave?”

“No! I mean, please, stay as long as you wish.” Now it was Byleth’s turn to sigh. “I know I can’t do this alone, and I’m grateful that you’ve come here to help me - truly, I am - but this is so different to the life I’m used to.” She looked him in the eyes and he held her gaze. “Please have a little patience with me, just while I settle in.” He paused before responding.

“Very well. I’ll answer whatever questions you may have.” Byleth allowed herself a rare smile at that.

“So for my first question - where do you think I should begin?”

**\- - -**

Hours passed as they sat beside each other at her desk, working together in the faint candlelight. Byleth drafted timetables and plans while Seteth patiently explained to her the various subjects that she would be expected to teach, as well as the resources that were at her disposal, occasionally leaning over to cross out a mistake or add something to her calendar. He suggested group projects, seminars, and activities to help her bond with the students, and answered her repeated questions about empire nobility until she felt she could name every Adrestian aristocrat and their entire heritage. 

It was difficult work, and she was unused to spending so much time staring at books and papers in the dim light. Byleth took many breaks to sit back and close her eyes while Seteth checked what she had written. It was past midnight when she took another moment to rub her eyes, and Seteth set down his quill. 

“I think we have enough for now,” he said gently, “and you need to get some rest.”

Byleth grumbled and leaned forward. There was a rough outline of lessons for three weeks, at a stretch. It was more than she had yesterday, but it had still taken hours of hard work into the night to come this far, and she didn’t even have a month filled in on her calendar. She hoped that the entire year wouldn’t be as difficult as this. She nodded and yawned as Seteth made to leave. He tapped the book on her desk that he had brought in earlier.

“I’ll leave this here for you; you should find it helpful.”

“I suppose I shall. Thank you for helping me tonight, Seteth.” Byleth allowed herself a tired smile.

“I’m… glad I could be of service.” He stopped halfway to the door. “If I don’t see you before then - good luck in the mock battle.”

Byleth sat up very suddenly, banging her knees against the underside of the desk.

“The mock battle?” She felt the dread rise in the pit of her stomach once again. “Oh no, I had forgotten all about that…” She groaned and rubbed her temples. Seteth chuckled as he left.

“Perhaps if you remembered to enter it into your calendar…”

“Goodnight, Seteth.” Byleth closed the door quickly behind him and collapsed into bed, still fully clothed. 

When Jeralt told her she was going to become a professor at Garreg Mach, she had envisioned mentoring young people on the intricacies of swordplay at the training grounds, not pouring over books until the unholy hours of the night - and she certainly could never have predicted the throbbing headache that cursed her as she began to drift off to sleep. She wondered at how the other professors coped with the workload; although considering the day’s events, she felt as if she understood Manuela a little better now. As for Seteth, Byleth was still unsure if he hated her or not. He was cold and callous, and seemed to take great delight in aggravating her - but at the same time, he had come to her aid today at her lowest moment. She was not used to spending an awful lot of time around people outside of her mercenary band, and now she remembered why - they confused her.

Plagued by dreams of strange words and numbers dancing across yellowed parchment, she fell into an uneasy and restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is dedicated to my good friend Sam, who is a big fan of this pairing. I hope you enjoy! :)


	2. Chapter 2

The mock battle had been, in Byleth’s opinion, a great success. Feeling anxious at first, she gained confidence when she was told she would be allowed to take the field alongside her students. Leading the charge alongside Edelgard, she had helped to claim a decisive victory for the Black Eagles, shutting out the competition. On the walk back to Garreg Mach she had time to chat with her students in high spirits, and felt the icy tension of the teacher-pupil bond starting to melt. That evening, they had dined together, and she was happy to sit and listen as her students chattered loudly around her.

She felt that she was starting to grow accustomed to them - Caspar’s loud personality, offset by Linhardt’s quiet, dry responses; Dorothea’s witty sarcasm and Petra’s earnest naivete; as she spent time with them all, Byleth felt the anxieties of teaching replaced by a new and unfamiliar feeling - excitement. Lessons were due to start this week, yet she felt as though she already had a good grasp on how they would act in class and where problems may arise, and with every moment she spent with her students, her confidence continued to grow. After seeing her on the battlefield, they had come to respect her, and for that, Byleth was grateful.

The morning after the mock battle, however, she awoke to the same aching in her muscles that had plagued her after every drawn out battle with the mercenaries. It felt strange to feel the soreness of exertion coursing through her shoulders and back in this place; the monastery was so far removed from battle, her bed here was comfortable and warm, and there were plenty of healers on staff should she require their assistance. And yet, this familiar feeling was not entirely unwelcome, as it reminded her of who she was - a fighter, a swordswoman, and now, a teacher. Knowing full well she could simply request a hot bath or head to the sauna to help ease her pains, Byleth instead decided upon her usual routine of a slow walk and stretching in the sun. Keeping such simple rituals helped her feel connected to her old life; kept her grounded.

The crisp spring breeze felt pleasant on Byleth’s face as she stepped out into the morning sun. Deciding to take a meandering route to the dining hall, she stretched her arms out above her head as she walked, relishing the pain that shot down her torso. She wondered how her students were faring; for many of them, it would have been their first time spending hours on end swinging a sword or a lance, running through the brush trying to get the jump on their enemies. Little did they know, the thrill of battle always took its toll the next morning.

A familiar figure rounded the corner then, heading in the opposite direction - Seteth wore his usual displeased expression as he marched quickly across the monastery grounds. Feeling confident that today, nothing could ruin her good mood, Byleth decided to try and offer an olive branch - he had helped her so much a couple of days ago, it only felt right to at least attempt a pleasant conversation. She smiled as he approached.

“Good morning, Seteth.”

“Oh, good morning professor.” He stopped suddenly, as if he hadn’t noticed her until that moment. It seemed he was still trying to ignore her presence; her smile faltered a little. An awkward atmosphere started to descend as they both stood in silence. Byleth tried to break it.

“Did you hear about the results of the mock battle? An easy victory for the Black Eagles - it seems I’m leading the strongest class.” Her tone was playful, teasing; but Seteth’s sour expression did not change.

“Actually, I heard it was more of a victory for you personally.” Byleth furrowed her brow at his words, still struggling to maintain her sunny disposition.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you charged in, took the lead, and pummeled the students of the other houses, while your class more or less just cheered you on.”

“Seteth, it was permitted for the teachers to involve themselves in the battle. Manuela for example-”

“Did Manuela or Hanneman charge the front lines? Did they personally beat down children before their first day of class?” Seteth’s gaze bore into her as Byleth’s mouth hung open in shock.

“It wasn’t - it didn’t happen like that! I had to lead them, I’m stronger than them! Besides, I can’t cast spells like the other professors, so there's nothing I could have done by hanging back and letting my class lose!” Byleth felt the indignation rising within her, but at the back of her mind, she started to doubt herself - had she really gone too far?

“If the Black Eagles couldn’t win without a seasoned mercenary personally taking out their targets one by one, then perhaps they deserved to lose with dignity.” Byleth opened her mouth to disagree, but closed it again when she could think of no good response. Instead she simply stared Seteth down. 

In truth, he looked worn out - he had dark circles under his eyes, and carried with him a large folio of papers. She felt a little guilty for a second - she had kept him up late the night before last, and perhaps that would explain his exhaustion and ornery attitude - but quickly reminded herself that she, too, felt tired this morning, and yet she had at least _tried_ to be civil. There was no point in engaging with him if he was going to take every opportunity to insult her.

“I see. Well, I’ll leave you to your duties. Good day, Seteth.” She barely heard his mumbled response as he headed off again. Shaking her head, she stretched once more, and continued on her way to the dining hall. Surely breakfast with her students would cheer her up.

**\- - -**

Despite the early hour, Byleth found the dining hall in chaos. She wondered if breakfast would be like this every morning - students and staff alike loudly chatting, arguing, trying to push into line, the banging and clattering of plates and cutlery filling the air; a cheerful but overwhelming din. After she had queued to pick up her meal, she heard someone yelling her name. Turning, she found Caspar stood on a bench waving wildly at her, gesturing for her to come and sit, with Ferdinand poised next to him daintily sipping tea. She marvelled at what strange friendships could form at the academy as she took her place beside them.

Before long the rest of her class had found their way to her table, and Byleth decided to stay for a morning cup of tea after finishing her meal. The way her students joked and teased with each other reminded her of how Jeralt’s mercenaries treated her when she was their age. There was a gentle affection in the faked groans and sarcastic quips that were traded across the table, and although she was content to simply sit and listen without joining in, she felt a deep sense of comfort. Yet, at the back of her mind, Seteth’s words still irked her. She had to train these children, to make them strong, and be careful not to shoulder their burdens herself, but rather to teach them how to fight their own battles. However, she found herself feeling a little worried at the prospect of laying them low; she was already so fond of them, and if they had lost the mock battle yesterday, spirits would certainly not be as high as they were this morning. 

She lingered as the dining hall started to empty. Caught up in her own thoughts, she wondered if after only a year under her tutelage they would be ready to face the world as adults. Edelgard, Ferdinand and Caspar were all too sure of themselves, seemed to have a hard time empathising with others; whereas Linhardt and Bernadetta were too passive, reclusive. The burden of responsibility once again weighed heavy upon her as she tried to imagine how she could help them grow in the coming year, not just academically, but as people. The more she understood about being a professor, the more daunting the task seemed; and yet, it was starting to crystallise in her mind. She felt it coming, slowly, day by day; a plan, an idea of exactly what needed to be done. With care and patience, she could perhaps do this - she could face the largest challenge in her career.

Setting her empty cup aside, she started to clear the plates left behind by her class. As she did so, she saw Seteth’s younger sister waiting patiently for her meal. Byleth was curious about the girl - she had only spoken to her briefly, but she had seemed pleasant enough, especially considering who her brother was. Flayn looked around the same age as the other students, and even wore the uniform of Officers Academy, yet didn’t seem to belong to any particular class as far as Byleth knew. That intrigued her - there were plenty of members of faculty or the church staff living here with their families, plenty of children who roamed the monastery - but only Flayn wore that uniform. To add to that, she was never out of her brother’s sight for long, acting mostly as his shadow. As Byleth returned the empty plates, she decided that it couldn’t hurt to be friendly - and besides, she may learn something about her. 

“Isn’t it a little early for lunch?” Her tone was joking, but Flayn started at her words, caught off guard.

“Good morning professor! Actually, I’m here for breakfast. My brother prefers it if I eat a little later than everyone else.” She stumbled over her response a little. “It simply means I spend less time around the other students.”

“Why does Seteth want you to spend less time around the students?” Byleth was confused. “Surely he wants you to make friends here?” Flayn avoided her gaze as she collected her food.

“My brother is merely concerned for me, that is all.”

“Concerned? Does he think you are in danger?”

“He can be a little… overbearing.” Flayn turned and smiled up at Byleth. “He is the only family I have however, and I do love him dearly. I wouldn’t wish to worry him at all.” Byleth didn’t quite know how to respond. Despite Flayn’s cheery expression, she could hear a sadness hidden behind her words; and despite Flayn’s youth, she spoke with dignity and manners that would be more at place in an ancient tale of knights and romance. It was clear, to her at least, that Flayn didn’t seem to spend much time around other people at all, and she wondered at what a miserable existence that must be - confined to spend all her waking hours with only Seteth for company.

“Well, Jeralt’s the only family I have, too,” Byleth tried to relate, “but he’s always been comfortable letting me have my independence. Perhaps your brother could stand to let you have a little more freedom-”

“Flayn!” Seteth suddenly approached, absent of the files he was carrying earlier that morning. “Come along now, you must eat.” He ushered her away quickly, and turned to Byleth. “Professor, I appreciate your work with the students, but as my sister is not a member of your class, I must implore you to simply leave her be.” 

“Seteth!” Byleth threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “I was only talking to the girl! Must you interrupt every pleasant conversation I have here?”

“Pleasant conversation or no, I do not appreciate you taking such an _interest_ in her. It is most suspicious behaviour indeed.” He spoke in a hushed tone, and glanced back to the dining hall where Flayn had taken a seat at an empty table. Byleth followed his gaze and felt a pang of sorrow; the young girl looked so dejected and lonely compared to the familial (if rather loud) dynamics her students shared. 

“The only thing that seems suspicious to me, Seteth,” Byleth started, lowering her voice too, “is that you would isolate your own family.” She shook her head. “You are beyond paranoid if you think this is what’s right for her.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause before Seteth responded, his voice wavering. “I know what is best for my family.”

“I understand that you only have each other, but Jeralt and I only have each other too, and he always let me-”

“Jeralt” Seteth interrupted, his tone darkening, “hid you from the world and sheltered you far more than I have ever done with Flayn. You came to this monastery not even knowing of the church, let alone your own father’s own personal history.” Byleth felt rage start to bubble within her now.

“The church was never relevant to us, we were mercenaries! He never stopped me from- from making friends, at least!”

“Then why is it, pray tell, that you don’t seem to have any?”

Byleth gasped a little in shock. She was not an emotional woman, but she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes nonetheless. She saw Seteth’s face soften at her response. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Byleth closed her eyes and breathed deeply to calm herself.

“I see. If this is how it is to be, then perhaps it is best if we avoid each other.” She opened her eyes to see Seteth give a little nod, guilt starting to show in his eyes. “Good day.”

Byleth left the dining hall without looking back. She wondered if she had overstepped her bounds - after all, Flayn was not her family. But perhaps there was some truth to Seteth’s words; she saw a lot of herself in the young woman. She had spent her childhood in rowdy places, among crowds, and yet had never felt part of any of them. Being at the academy had only made her realise how much she had missed out on during those formative years, and perhaps her anger was better directed at Jeralt than Seteth.

She had long consigned herself to that life, however; and thinking back to the morning, she felt a little excitement start to rise within her once again at the thought of spending time with her class. Byleth decided that she would simply avoid Seteth as much as possible, and focus her efforts instead on teaching. This week marked the start of lectures, and she had much to look forward to.

\- - -

The first day of class passed, to Byleth’s surprise, much as Manuela had told her it would. Armed with a strong lesson plan, the hours flew by as Byleth struggled to stay on schedule. At first, there was the argument about desks, followed by the needlessly long dissection of the daily timetable, then that of the weekly timetable, and then before long it was time for lunch. As the bell rang to signal the end of the first day of lectures, Byleth gratefully headed to the dining hall alongside the rest of her students, and after overseeing training sessions for hours, she finally fell into bed. The sun had not yet fully set and she could still hear the voices of her students ringing in her head as she slipped into a deep slumber.

The days flew by quickly as Byleth struggled to manage her routine. Every evening she found herself falling asleep early, and by the time the weekend came, she even found herself nodding off while supervising the weekly group projects. Her first free day came and went with her barely leaving her quarters, instead relishing the day spent in the dark, quiet recess of her room. The next week, however, she had resolved herself to take lunch breaks in class alone, sparing herself of her students’ noise and clamour for one glorious hour.

It was there that Seteth found her - curled up in an awkward position in her chair, finishing her meal and flicking through an illustrated tome of battle maneuvers. Hearing footsteps on the flagstones, Byleth squinted into the afternoon sunlight to see the man approach with a sour expression on his face. She quickly straightened herself in her chair and set down her book.

“Seteth, I thought we-”

“Lady Rhea will be giving you orders this week.” He spoke quickly and quietly, taking Byleth off guard. “There is a group of bandits threatening the village and she will ask you to lead the Black Eagles in taking care of them.” 

“Lead the Black Eagles… Another mock battle?” Byleth struggled to keep up. Seteth’s expression was more serious than usual.

“I am afraid not.”

“Wait, Seteth - a real battle? Against bandits?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing - barely a week into term and the students were expected to take the field - if she didn’t know him better, she would assume this was a bad joke.

“Over the last few days I have consulted with Archbishop Rhea extensively on the topic. The church deems this to be an important experience for the students.”

“The church deems - this wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“As I mentioned, I have discussed this with the archbishop at great length.” He avoided her gaze, but Byleth could hear the strain in his voice. 

Byleth sat back in her chair and tried to take it all in. Bernadetta could barely hold a bow, Linhardt was uninterested in anything other than reading and sleeping, and Caspar was so brash he would pick fights with anyone who would let him. How could she be expected to lead them into battle against bandits - adult men and women who had perhaps years of battle experience? She had fought plenty of bandits alongside Jeralt, and they could be tough. She had seen them cut down innocents and mercenaries alike. She felt her stomach drop at the image of one of her students being hurt in battle. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I considered that you may want to be… prepared, when the archbishop summons you. I didn’t want this to be a surprise to you.” Byleth stared into the distance and nodded detachedly. There was a long silence before he continued, “I’m sorry.” The sudden apology snapped Byleth back to the moment.

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry; I don’t envy the task you’ve been given, and-”

“That will be all, Seteth.” Her blunt reaction caught him off guard. He stumbled over his words a little before giving a curt nod and leaving. She needed time alone right now to process what he had told her.

Watching him go, Byleth slumped in her seat. Just as things were starting to go so well, she now had this to contend with. She mulled over her options. If Seteth had already tried changing Rhea’s mind and failed, then that was out of the question. She supposed she could ask Jeralt for help - but if this was meant to be some kind of training exercise, Rhea probably wouldn’t allow it. With class about to reconvene and stuck for options, Byleth resigned herself to the task now laid out before her; to turn young carefree nobles into trained killers in only a matter of days. She tried to hide her discomfort as her students returned; she would spare them their innocence for as long as possible.

\- - -

“Bandits?” Edelgard sighed, drumming her fingers on her desk. “What use could the archbishop have with us chasing down a group of bandits?”

“This is to be a practical exercise, in order to prove your training.” Byleth tried to maintain a cheery tone, but her students looked either shocked, confused, or both. Once she had received official orders from Rhea, she had waited a few days to break the news to her class. She had spent sleepless nights lying awake, worrying about how they would react, trying to compose herself. They needed her to be strong; if she wavered now, it could cost them on the battlefield. Byleth had to steel herself now more than ever to the horrors she was about to expose them to.

“Our training has barely even started,” Sylvain chirped as he kicked back his chair, “I’m not sure there’s much to prove.” The boy had requested a transfer to the Black Eagles almost immediately after term began, and Byleth didn’t really feel as if she had the choice to refuse him. She knew little of him; Seteth’s notes didn’t cover Kingdom nobility, and he still spent most mealtimes with his former classmates in the Blue Lions house. Yet somehow, she was perturbed by him; he had an airheaded persona and had already caused plenty of trouble for the women of Garreg Mach, herself included, but he was incredibly shrewd and observant at times. She didn’t quite trust him, despite the fact that he was still just a child. She felt as if there was something dark within him she had yet to discover; something dark that she didn’t quite like. However he was, she had to admit, a great spearman, and had already started to show talent with magic. His skills would definitely be useful in the coming battle.

“Once you have graduated from this academy, you will return to your respective homes as adults.” Byleth spoke with authority, commanding their attention. “You will be well-versed in the arts of battle and tactics, and you will find it impossible to gain the respect of any of your soldiers without battlefield experience. This is vital to your education.” She didn’t fully believe the words herself, but some of her students were nodding, and that was all she needed; as long as they believed, she could give them confidence when they needed it most.

“I, for one, relish the chance to test my skills.” Ferdinand was a little too positive.

“Me too! Just point me to the bandits, and I’ll crack some skulls!” Caspar too, was even more self-assured than usual.

“I-is this an elective? I don’t think I want to do this, professor,” Bernadetta squeaked from the back of the class. It was unlike her to speak up at all, especially at a time like this.

“I’d also like to opt out in that case,” Linhardt spoke before Byleth could respond, “I don’t think I really belong on the battlefield at all, especially not fighting against bandits. It all seems so unnecessary.”

The noise grew as the students started to talk over one another and argue with each other. Byleth glanced from face to face, struggling to gain control of her class. Dorothea’s voice cut loudly across the room;

“What if one of us is injured, professor?” A sudden silence descended. All eyes were on her as Byleth struggled to form a response.

“In the unlikely case that someone is hurt, we have a few options.” She spoke slowly and deliberately, choosing her words carefully. “Dorothea, Linhardt; you have both spent time training in healing magic. This will be very useful to us.” As Linhardt opened his mouth to protest, she quickly continued, “And tomorrow I will be holding a seminar on battlefield medicine, so we are all familiar with the use of the various concoctions and medicines that will be at our disposal.” She thought back to Manuela’s comments a few weeks prior; she was glad she had made the trip to the market that day.

“Professor; what if we get hit?” Petra could be somewhat naive about life in Fódlan, but she was a skilled huntress; Byleth supposed that she may be the most familiar with combat.

“Then you fall back immediately.” The students shared worried looks. “If you listen to my orders, train well, and stay close to me, I promise you that no-one is getting hit.” Byleth tried to reassure them, but it didn’t seem particularly effective.

“The victory feast is going to be amazing!” Caspar thumped the desk and grabbed Linhardt into a headlock. Chaos erupted in the classroom once again, and Byleth closed her eyes and thanked whatever goddess there may be for his thickheadedness. Brash zeal and arrogance were exactly what she needed right now.

She tried to banish the worry from her mind for now; thinking too much on the odds of the fight was neither good for her students nor herself. Now that she had told them what had to be done, her duty was to train them as hard as she could without completely wearing them out. This, at least, she could do.

\- - -

The day of the fated battle arrived all too quickly; a damp, drizzly day that put everyone in low spirits. As Byleth prepared to ride out with her students, gathering whatever medicine she could find, she made a mental note to research the effects of weather conditions on morale once she returned. As she made her way to meet with her class, she walked by Seteth; the monastery was small, and he was a familiar sight to her by now, although they hadn’t talked much since the day in the dining hall. 

Today was different. As he walked by her, he suddenly reached out his hand and put it on her shoulder, stopping her. She looked up at his rain-streaked face from beneath her hood.

“Do you remember my advice to you after the mock battle?” His voice was strained, cracking.

“About letting the students fight to gain experience, and not taking personal glory?” He nodded.

“Don’t follow that advice today. Please.” With that he was off, leaving Byleth staring after him.

Her stomach twisted into knots at his words. Although her students could supposedly defend themselves, their lives were still entirely in her hands. She was not ready to take responsibility for the survival of so many children, and yet she didn’t have a choice. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, before heading off once again to the meeting point.

  
  


Seteth was right. She had to be ready to face down any foe for them, come what may.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left such lovely comments here so far, it means so much to me to see people enjoying this.  
> Warning for the below chapter: it gets dark in places, and counselling is discussed in somewhat vague terms. Stay safe everyone x

There was no victory celebration upon the return to Garreg Mach.

The students returned, led by Byleth, in a bloody and somber procession. She counted her blessings that everyone had survived, but some were luckier than others. Ferdinand and Caspar had both suffered minor fractures as they held the front lines of battle, and Dorothea was not yet an experienced enough healer to help them. Linhardt had spent much of the battle screaming and hiding, with Byleth doing her best to keep him alive. Bernadetta was quiet, but she acted differently; whereas she would normally hang back and try to avoid the others at all costs, she clung to Ferdinand’s sleeve on the entire trek back to the monastery. Few words were spoken as they entered through the gate to the courtyard. Byleth could say nothing to comfort them. She could only watch as they silently made their way back to their rooms, or to the infirmary. 

It had always been in her nature to fight, to kill. It was a way of life for her; it was how she was raised. She knew that it was difficult to take someone’s life for the first time, even in self defence, and she had anticipated that her students would be upset. However, she was not prepared for how strongly she would feel their suffering too. She felt as though she had witnessed a change in them today on the battlefield. One by one, she had seen them take their first life - even Linhardt had found it within himself to use white magic to kill a man. She had watched the emotion on their faces; confusion and fear, guilt and shame. They barely had time to process what had happened before they were set upon again and again, being beaten down and fighting back in what felt like an endless cycle.

She had protected them, and that had been her only goal. They were all home, and they were safe. But they were covered in blood - some their own - and they were different to the children she had rode out with that morning. She had worked harder than ever before to keep them alive - mercilessly striking any foe that dared approach, cutting her enemies open and leaving them choking on their own blood, cutting through limbs again and again as they screamed in pain. None of her students had been able to look her in the eye on the way back. She couldn’t blame them.

Pulling her blood stained cloak around her shoulders to protect against the pouring rain, she made her way back to her quarters. Tomorrow, lectures would resume as normal. She held onto the faint glimmer of hope that her students would somehow simply forget today’s events, but deep down she knew better; they had changed. There was no going back now.

\- - -

The rainstorm kept up all week. Byleth found her lectures without the usual tenacious behaviour from her class; instead they all sat quietly and listened to her. Not a single one asked a question, and she didn’t prompt them. Linhardt and Bernadetta didn’t come to class, and she didn’t search for them. In the evenings, they no longer sat together as a class in the dining hall; some sat with their friends from the other houses, some sat alone, and some had stopped coming to dinner completely.

Only Edelgard and Hubert still graced her with their presence at the dinner table, and yet she found their company more odd than comforting. She knew from the moment she killed that first enemy, showing no remorse or hesitation, that her students would see her differently. Part of her had always known she was not one of them, that she did not belong here. She had allowed herself a few weeks of playing at the friendly new professor, and now the truth had revealed itself; she was hardened and cold and barely human. She may not have been much older than them in terms of age, but in terms of experience she was so far removed from the level of her class; bitterly, she supposed, that is why she was fit for the role of mentor. It was only right that her students should feel scared of her; they had seen her show her true colours.

Despite all this, she found that Edelgard and Hubert had perhaps even warmed to her, if anything, but this only served to worry her further. Byleth wondered if there was something deeper there - if they maybe had more experience on the battlefield than she initially gave them credit for. Regardless, it was not the same; they barely spoke as they dined, and once they were finished, they simply departed without so much as a polite word.

After a few days of this miserable solitude, Seteth came to find her. Byleth had taken to spending the evenings in her classroom, now that she was sure none of her students would come searching for her, content to read and correct their work in the warm glow of the candlelight. Somehow, she found the room more welcoming after class had ended, with only herself for company. Byleth was dozing off when there came a great knocking at the door, and as she jumped and ran to open it, anticipating - or perhaps, hoping for - one of her students, she frowned when instead she saw Seteth standing there, rain-soaked cloak pulled close around him.

Although she knew that Rhea was to blame for sending children off to kill, she couldn’t help but feel anger towards every one of them that had let this happen - Seteth included. She glared at him in silence before he spoke. 

“May I come in?” Byleth wordlessly stood aside, and shut the large wooden door behind him as he hung his cloak across the back of a chair. “I suppose you are wondering why I’m here to see you at this hour,” Seteth started. She tried to suppress the rage rising within her, instead opting to ignore him and retreat back behind her desk, pretending to work. “It’s about your students.”

At that, Byleth’s ears pricked, but she showed no outward response. She waited for him to continue, but instead there was only a drawn-out silence. When it became too much to bear, she sighed and set down her papers. Avoiding eye contact with him, she spoke slowly and deliberately, desperately trying to maintain her self control. “What appears to be the issue?”

“Some members of your class have come to visit me, separately, with their concerns.” Byleth couldn’t help but let out a bitter snort.

“Why would they visit you?”

“Initially, they visited professor Manuela. However, as she is merely a physician and not a guidance counsellor, and furthermore, has her hands full leading the Golden Deer, she directed them to myself.” Another long silence followed. When Byleth spoke, she was very quiet.

“Do they know that you are partly responsible for what happened?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The ones who visited you - I imagine Linhardt did at the very least, although I’m not sure about the others - are they aware that it was _your_ organisation that sent them to kill bandits?”

“My organisation? Byleth, I don’t-”

“The church, Seteth.” She couldn’t stop herself now; the fury that she had been swallowing down all week was finally boiling over. “You have knights at your command, you have more resources than any local lord - in fact, you can probably call on any of the lords of Fódlan to do your bidding - and yet you send children into battle! Children, in their first month of school, who have just left home for the first time, who are just getting used to the world.” Once again she felt the tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

“I understand that you are angry, however we must focus on-”

“No! I’m beyond angry, I’m furious! Why was their class singled out? Why didn’t all the students get sent out? Why them in particular?” She paused to take a breath as Seteth fumbled for a response, but interrupted him again. “I have to deal with this, Seteth. I have to stand before them and tell them that while their peers spent a pleasant day off, resting at home, they were on the battlefield committing unspeakable acts of violence and risking their lives for no reason that I can fathom!” Byleth was shaking with rage. She willed the tears to come, she _wanted_ to cry, to scream, to show the world that she wasn’t a heartless monster; but try as she might, she had never cried in all her life. “I had just started to get through to them. We were laughing together, I had started to enjoy teaching. I thought that everything was starting to work itself out.” Leaning forward onto her desk, she put her head in her hands. For the last week she had kept all this pent up within her, and now these emotions were breaking loose, outside of her control.

“Is that truly what this is about?” She didn’t even look up at his goading words. “You wish to have fun with your students? Would you shelter them from the cruel truths of this world for so long?” 

“I… would.” Byleth answered honestly. She never clung onto her own youthful innocence, so she didn’t quite understand why she was so protective of that of her students. However, ever since that first day in the dining hall, she had felt part of something; now she wanted that sense of belonging back. She wondered if that made her selfish; was she a good teacher? Was she acting on some kind of parental instinct? She was not used to this inner turmoil - she had never questioned herself so much.

“In that case, I believe I may be of some assistance,” Seteth sighed. Byleth looked at him then. She didn’t understand him at all - he confounded her with his snide comments and bitter remarks, and confounded her more still with his kind actions, betraying a caring nature. He had been unspeakably rude to her ever since she had arrived, and yet, she had relied on him more than she cared to admit.

“What… What did you have in mind?” She was still wary of him, but considering that he hadn’t actively sabotaged her yet, she allowed herself to feel a little hopeful.

“While I am not necessarily… experienced, in such matters, I could provide counsel to the students privately. In return, I would need some information from you.” His tone was almost warm.

“What information would you need?” 

“I’d like to know a few personal details about them; their personalities, mannerisms, what they would respond well to; that sort of thing.”

“And how would you use this information?” She still couldn’t meet his gaze. She had been caught up in such a maelstrom of emotion, this sudden calm that had come over the both of them had instilled in her a strange kind of fear. She wasn’t used to showing her vulnerable side like this.

“I would talk to the students one by one, help them as best I can to work through the troublesome feelings they must be dealing with.” He paused for a brief moment, giving her time to think. Without prompting he finished quietly, “And I would make sure they knew you were their ally, that they could still rely on you.” Byleth felt taken aback by that, but considered his words carefully.

“Do you think it will work?” She was unfamiliar with such techniques, and didn’t fully understand how simply talking to the students would make them feel better; yet despite all this, she found herself trusting Seteth. If he was confident in the idea, it would be good enough for her.

“I can’t promise that it will fix everything that has happened, but I believe it will help.” He spoke gently now. “I believe that they should start to become… more like their old selves.” The image of enjoying dinner with her class once again flashed through Byleth’s mind. 

“Then I’ll help.” Byleth straightened herself in her chair, and gestured for Seteth to pull up a seat. “What do you need from me?”

Night began to fall as the two worked together into the small hours once again. Seteth grilled her on the personal details of each student, and she found his questions strange. She didn’t understand why he needed to know the intricacies of Bernadetta’s many fears, or how to get Linhardt to pay attention for more than ten minutes at a time, but stranger still, she found that she could easily answer most of his questions. 

She surprised herself with how well she had come to know the students in the past weeks. She had unconsciously picked up on all their subtleties, she had been developing methods to help them learn without even realising it. The more they worked together, the more she seemed to learn about herself. She felt a flash of pride whenever Seteth asked her a complex question that she could answer concisely; but deep down, she also felt dread that the time when her students could open themselves up to her in such ways had passed. She hoped that together, they could work out a solution for helping them feel a little more normal again, despite the circumstances.

After far too much time spent pouring over parchment in the dim candlelight, Byleth caught herself rubbing her eyes once again, frustrated at how the letters on the pages seemed to dance before her eyes. She stopped as she noticed Seteth looking at her with an odd expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think perhaps we should call it a night, for now.” Although he usually sounded so composed, Byleth could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Are you sure you have all the information you need?” She, too, was tired, but she was prepared to work until sunrise if it meant ensuring the wellbeing of her students.

“I have plenty to work with, for now.” Seteth gathered their notes and prepared to leave as Byleth stretched in her chair. “I shall send out appointment cards to your students this week. If there’s nothing else you need from me, I shall take my leave.”

“Actually, there is one thing,” Byleth started as she stood to see him out. “I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind telling me… Who exactly came to visit you about this?” Seteth paused, considering his response.

“Just two; Linhardt, as you correctly suspected, and Bernadetta.” Byleth felt a little shocked - Bernadetta was so meek and terrified of strangers, she couldn’t imagine her approaching someone as naturally intimidating as Seteth. But this also confused her; they had talked in detail about each and every member of her class, including Sylvain, her transfer student.

“Then why did you ask me questions about everyone today?”

“Not everyone is capable of asking for help.” He gave her a faint smile before gathering his cloak. “Will that be all?” Byleth nodded, and with a polite “Goodnight,” he left her to silence one more.

His words swirled inside her head as she gathered her things and returned to her quarters. Despite feeling so weary after the day’s events, she found it hard to sleep. She laid awake and wondered if his methods would truly help. Byleth had always been a practical person, never much relying on anyone other than herself; this idea of having a man she deeply disliked talk to her students in order for them to recover from the horrors of war, to trust her again; it felt incredibly foreign to her. Yet, it was her only real choice, and she trusted him to, at the very least, not make the situation worse.

She drifted off into an uneasy slumber, plagued by endless fears of solitude.

\- - -

The change that came over the Black Eagles classroom was gradual, but noticeable. Over the course of a fortnight, Byleth found teaching her class slowly became more and more bearable. She didn’t flinch when her students asked to take free periods to go to clandestine “appointments”, and she made sure to take notes for those who couldn’t be there. The background chatter during lessons started to make a reappearance, and rather than scolding her students, she simply let them talk.

At dinner, she was finally joined by more than just Edelgard and Hubert now, neither of whom were capable of producing the easy atmosphere of a newfound family rambunctiously spending time together; first Fedinand surprised her by suddenly sitting next to her one evening and carrying on a conversation as if nothing had happened, and then Caspar was there the next. Byleth felt the warmth from her students that she had taken for granted start to creep back. She even managed a curt, polite nod to Seteth whenever she passed him in the hallways. She was unsure of what kind of magic he was working, but it appeared to be effective.

She was taken aback on one particular afternoon, when the late spring sun shone brightly in the sky, casting its warmth across the grounds; it was a free day, and plenty of students were taking the good weather as an opportunity to spend time outside. Byleth was on her way back from a pleasant morning of gardening in the greenhouse (a new pursuit she was trying desperately to learn) when she passed by the curious trio of Caspar, Linhardt and Ashe rowdily play fighting in the shade of an oak tree - or rather, Ashe being put in a headlock by Caspar, while Linhardt napped with a book in his lap at the foot of the trunk.

It was a strange friendship, but one she was glad of; the three were nothing alike. She was aware that Linhardt and Caspar were both much like their respective fathers, and that their parents were rivals, but despite their many arguments the boys always chose to sit together in class or in the dining hall. She had noticed, too, that since the end of the last battle, they had adopted Ashe, a commoner boy from the Blue Lions. Although she didn’t know much about him, from what she could tell he was like neither of them, and yet again they all seemed to somehow get along. To her knowledge, Ashe was quiet and incredibly soft-spoken; in stark contrast with Caspar’s impulsive hot-headedness or Lindhardt’s outspoken bluntness.

She was content to simply pass by the trio with a smile as Caspar noticed her, but he frantically waved her over, Ashe still under one arm. 

“Professor!” Caspar raised his voice even as she approached. The loud noise seemed to snap Linhardt out of his slumber, but he merely looked up at the three of them stood before him, and closed his eyes once again.

“Caspar, I’m sure Ashe has had enough, I think you can let him go now,” Byleth couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice as Caspar looked down at the boy almost suffocating in his arms, as if he had forgotten he were there.

“Oh, right!” He dropped him, and Ashe landed on the ground with a thump, gasping for breath. “About that, actually - I was wondering, do we have any more space in our class?”

“Space - what do you mean?”

“Well, Ashe wants to know if he can join our class! You let Sylvain join, and he came from the Blue Lions too, so I thought it would be fine.” Ashe was still picking himself up off the floor, but his head snapped up at the mention of this, and Byleth saw a blush start to spread across his cheeks.

“Caspar, I’m sure Ashe can ask himself if he wants to transfer,” she warned him playfully. Despite her smile however, she felt her stomach twist itself into knots. She was grateful that Caspar, at the very least, seemed to be feeling more like his usual self; however she was worried about accepting Ashe into her house. She already felt as if she had betrayed her students in some way, leading them on that last mission, and had been questioning if she was truly fit for teaching. Should she really be accepting new transfer students now?

“W-well, I, ah, thought it would be a good idea, that is, uh, C-caspar and Linhardt are both in your house, so…” Ashe struggled to get the words out. Byleth decided to try and help him explain himself, at the very least.

“So you’d like to study alongside your friends?” Ashe nodded in response. “What is it that you’d like to study, specifically?”

“I want to learn how to be a knight!” He was so sure of himself, suddenly. “But uh, I’m actually more used to bows than swords or spears…”

“Bernadetta is an archer!” Caspar cut in suddenly, “The professor does a good job teaching her, don’t you?” He grinned at Byleth, but she could feel the dread rising within her. Bernadetta had started coming back to class, but only very infrequently, and never for more than a few hours at a time. She felt a pang of guilt; the girl had always been shy, but somehow Byleth had made it worse, turned it into a far greater problem.

“While it’s true that I do train Bernadetta, and there is opportunity for Ashe to train alongside her, there’s more to consider than that,” she didn’t necessarily want to dissuade the boy; rathe, she wanted him to have a clear picture of the Black Eagles before he joined.

“I don’t think there is,” Caspar laughed. “Come on professor, don’t be shy! Ashe would love to join, isn’t that right?” Ashe nodded enthusiastically, still blushing. Looking down at his earnest expression, Byleth felt she had no choice. Not only that, deep down she wanted the boy to join; another transfer student made her feel as though she were doing something right, at least. Besides, the worst was over, and Seteth’s methods seemed to be working; surely there wasn’t much bad that could come of this. After pausing to consider, she finally gave in with a sigh.

“Alright, Ashe can transfer - but only if Hanneman agrees!” Caspar pumped his fist in the air while Ashe clasped Byleth’s hand in his.

“Thank you so much professor! I won’t let you down!” Byleth could only give him a weak smile as she left, hoping she had made the right decision.

\- - -

For a while after that, life at the monastery returned to its usual, slow pace. Ashe made a valuable addition to her class, helping to bring laughter back to lessons, and quickly befriended the other students. Byleth felt confident that she had made the right decision then; between him joining, and students occasionally leaving for their _appointments_ , spirits started to improve. While no-one could really forget the events that had transpired between them, the atmosphere had certainly become more comfortable as spring melted into summer.

This fragile peace was shattered, however, when Rhea gave Byleth her next task. On the surface, it was a simple mission; the class would ride out behind the Knights of Seiros as a rear guard, to clean up the aftermath of the rebellion of some minor lord. The particulars of the situation went over Byleth’s head, for the most part, but from what she could tell the man involved had a long-lasting grudge against the church, was old, and had no surviving family, and thus had decided to start a pathetic revolt that had no hope of succeeding. There was one thing that bothered her; Rhea had ordered one of the knights to ride with her class, making a quiet comment about demonstrating the strength of the church. Hearing that, especially in the context of their last appointment, worried Byleth. After their brief meeting, she decided to follow Seteth back to his office, much to his chagrin.

“Lady Rhea has given her orders, there is no more to discuss,” he sighed, as he took a seat at his desk.

“You don’t think the comment she made was strange? Discouraging the students from turning their blades against the church - don’t you think she’s trying to intimidate them?” Byleth pried.

“I suppose that she is.” Seteth’s response took her by surprise. “You see, those charming children that you enjoy teaching are the future lords and ladies of Fódlan. One day they will have large forces at their command, and there is no telling what they will do; if they do have any notions of attacking the church, however, it would be best to quell those as soon as possible.” Byleth struggled to formulate a response. 

“Do you really believe that the church should be trying to subdue future rebellions by scaring children?”

“I believe that the nobility were aware that the officer’s academy is run by the church when they decided to send their children here for tutelage.” Seteth made a point of avoiding eye contact as he rifled through his papers. 

Byleth rubbed her temples. He was right, after all - the church was ultimately responsible for the day to day operation of the academy, so of course they were only going to expose the students to whatever views they saw fit. She already knew that they controlled exactly which texts appeared in the library, ensuring nothing overly critical of Seiros or the Goddess made its way there; she shouldn’t be so surprised that they also sought to ingrain a sense of fear in the students, as well as undying loyalty. As much as she didn’t like the idea, she had little power to argue against it.

“Tell me,” she prompted, “you said there’s little chance of them seeing battle this time - do you truly think that is the case?” Seteth finally turned to look at her.

“I’m confident that the students will see no battle. They may see wounded soldiers, or corpses left in the wake of the vanguard we will send ahead of them, but I promise you, the knights are taking care of this one.” His tone was gentle and sincere; Byleth hesitated before nodding.

“In that case, I’ll let them know.” 

As she took her leave, Byleth wondered at what other horrors the students would have to witness at the behest of the church before their time at the academy was up. Nevertheless, she felt grateful that they wouldn’t be responsible for actively killing people on the battlefield this time; it was much easier to grant them their mission, knowing the students would not have to draw their blades, in self defense or otherwise.

\- - -

The class seemed to take the news fairly well, considering recent events. The somber tone that arose after they realised they would be riding out yet again lasted only until lunchtime, when the warm sunshine and upbeat atmosphere of the monastery allowed them to bounce back quickly. There was to be some annual ritual soon, as Byleth understood, and pilgrims and merchants alike were already flooding into the village of Garreg Mach, bringing with them a festive mood. As the days passed and the day of departure crawled towards them, she found herself feeling uncharacteristically relaxed about the situation.

Arriving before sunrise at her classroom one misty morning, as she was now accustomed to, her mind occupied with the day’s lessons, she was perturbed to find a small wooden box set neatly upon her desk, with a note placed delicately upon it. Still in a jovial mood from the persistent good weather that they had been experiencing, she hoped for a gift from her students; perhaps chocolate, or a trinket of some kind. Setting the note aside without bothering to read it, she let her excitement get the better of her as she opened the box to find inside, to her great surprise, a pair of glasses.

Confused and disappointed, wondering if someone had lost them, she opened the note. The message written there was succinct, and despite the note being unsigned, she was familiar enough with Seteth’s neat lettering by now to recognise his handwriting.

_These should help with the reading headaches._

Cautiously, she reached into the box and plucked them out. She had never even held a pair of glasses before, and was taken aback by how fragile they felt. Gingerly placing them upon her face, and tucking them behind her ears, she looked down at her notes in shock. Where before, the words would dance across the page until she squinted, there now sat perfectly legible rows of script. She felt a blush rising; how had Seteth realised she needed these? Had it really been this obvious? She wondered how long it had been that she had struggled to read for long periods of time, but her thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the open classroom door. She looked up to find Hanneman’s figure silhouetted against the early morning fog.

“Professor, I- Well, I wasn’t aware that you, too, used spectacles!” He made a point of adjusting his monocle as Byleth forced a smile. 

“Neither was I until very recently,” she tried to sound cheerful, but her mind raced as she wondered who else had noticed that she had problems with far-sightedness.

“Well I must say, they do look rather dashing on you,” Hanneman guffawed and Byleth felt her cheeks burning. She mentally cursed Seteth for putting her in this situation.

“Is there something you need from me this morning, professor Hanneman?” She politely tried to steer the conversation towards more official matters.

“Ah, of course, my apologies. I heard that your students were to set out after the knights to assist in dealing with a rebellion in the Kingdom, is that true?”

“Yes, some local lord or other has raised troops against the church.” Byleth couldn’t help but wonder how Hanneman knew this.

“Well, I have also heard that the particular lord leading this rebellion is Lord Lonato Gaspard,” Hanneman continued, a hint of warning in his voice.

“That is correct,” Byleth started to feel nervous; she wondered where he was taking this.

“Are you aware that Lord Lonato is Ashe’s adoptive father?” Byleth immediately felt her stomach drop as the truth hit her. While it was true that Ashe had seemed quieter in the past few days, she assumed that it was simply due to him being sat next to Caspar in class, and not being able to get a word in edgeways. Hanneman sounded far away, and she barely heard his words as he carried on, “I just wanted to be sure you were aware of this, as his new professor. I am somewhat concerned for the boy, given his upbringing.”

“I thought he was a commoner,” Byleth mumbled, mostly to herself, still lost in thought.

“He was indeed born a commoner, but from what I understand Lord Lonato took him in after his parents tragically passed away.”

“Oh. I see.” She felt entirely detached from the classroom as her mind raced with this new information.

“I believe Lonato also cares for Ashe’s siblings. His own son was executed by the knights, you see, so I suppose Ashe has become somewhat of a surrogate for his eldest child; hence why he was sent to the academy.” Hanneman paused his explanation when he saw how pale Byleth had suddenly become. “Professor, is everything okay?”

“No,” Byleth shook her head, trying to bring herself back to reality. She had a full day of lessons ahead of her, and needed to be prepared for her students. “I think I will need to speak to Ashe after class today. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” She realised how weak her voice sounded as Hanneman left to return to his classroom next door.

Byleth tried to steel herself and make ready for the day ahead of her, despite the many questions swirling around in her mind. She wondered if Seteth knew all of this, and if so, why he hadn’t told her; she wondered if Rhea had only sent her class in particular out because Ashe had transferred; but more than anything, she racked her brains for a solution to this. The last thing she needed - or wanted, for that matter - was Ashe coming upon the corpse of his adoptive father, slain in battle.

She had much work to do, but made a mental note to seek Ashe out after classes had wrapped up for the day.

\- - -

Despite her intentions, Byleth found herself trapped in the classroom completing the day’s marking long past dinnertime; by the time she went searching for Ashe, it was almost sunset. A light fog had moved in from the north, persisting throughout the day, dampening the mood; class was quieter than usual, and she had kept a watchful eye on Ashe. She had noticed the tear stains he couldn’t quite wash away after he returned from lunch, how he didn’t giggle along with the rest of the class whenever Sylvain made a vulgar comment, his lack of concentration. She kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. She made her way around the monastery asking for him, making sure only to question faculty and staff, as she didn’t want to upset her students more than she already had.

She finally found him in the cathedral. Byleth rarely came in here, except when necessary; she was not used to such places, and the echoing acoustics imbued her with a strange, primal kind of fear, as if she was being constantly watched. Ashe sat upon a pew, his head bowed as if in prayer, but she heard his muffled sobs as she approached.

“Ashe…” She spoke in a hushed tone as she slowly took a seat beside him. His head snapped up as he noticed her presence.

“P-professor! I’m sorry, I was just-” his voice was pitchy, raspy. Byleth felt guilty for letting him suffer like this.

“It’s okay,” she tried to sound soothing, “this is about Lonato, isn’t it?” Ashe nodded glumly and wiped tears from his face. She didn’t have a plan, she had no idea what to say; she only knew that she had to say _something_. “I understand that he is like a father to you?”

“He’s my adoptive father. He took me in, after he, well, after I…” Ashe trailed off and stared into his lap.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Byleth wished she had asked Seteth about his talking strategies now; perhaps she should have simply sent the boy to him instead. She didn’t think she could be of much help.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Ashe shook his head. “My parents died when I was very young, and Lonato took my siblings and I in, after he… well, after he found me trying to steal from him.” Byleth was shocked at that - she would never have imagined such a modest and well spoken boy could be a thief.

“You tried to steal from him?”

“I’m not proud of it! But I had no other choice… After we started living at Castle Gaspard, Lonato taught me to read and write; I read tales of chivalry, and I dreamed of becoming a knight… Since then, I’ve always wanted to come to the officer’s academy, and even after what happened with Cristophe… Well, Lonato still wanted me to follow my dreams…” Ashe began to tear up again.

“What happened with Cristophe?” Byleth knew she shouldn’t pry; she knew deep down, the answer would only upset them both. But the church had kept her in the dark thus far, and she had to know.

“My adoptive brother, he… They said he was involved with the tragedy of Duscur… He was captured by one of the knights and executed.” Ashe gulped. There was a long silence as Byleth struggled to find words of comfort. In the end, she had little to offer.

“You don’t have to come with us, when we go. If you’d rather stay here-”

“No, no, I think I’d rather go with you.” Ashe was still avoiding her eye contact. Byleth bit her lip. She didn’t want to cause the boy any more undue pain. “Professor, will Lord Lonato be okay? I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding, if the knights just spoke with him…”

Byleth closed her eyes. She didn’t want to lie to him, but didn’t have it in her to expose him to the harsh realities of the church, either. Whatever was about to happen, she decided, she would simply try and avoid causing him more worry now. If he insisted on riding out with them, she would rather him be hopeful than forlorn at the very least.

“I’m sure that the knights will try their best.” She hoped her hopeful tone didn’t sound forced. “Lord Lonato sounds like a peaceful, level-headed man. Besides, the church would rather force a surrender than risk the lives of innocents.” She sounded more confident in that than she actually was. Ashe looked up at her, wide-eyed.

“Do you really think so?”

“I do,” she couldn’t stop herself from lying. Ashe gave her a small smile, and she felt her heart melt for him.

“Thank you, professor. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d like to stay here, and pray a little longer.” She smiled at him in return, and made her way out of the cathedral.

Byleth wondered exactly what Rhea hoped to accomplish with this mission - the church wouldn’t provide her with the full details, but from what she had managed to piece together, Lonato was a grief-stricken widower, a minor lord of little importance, and ultimately a good man. If his reaction to finding a thief in his own home was to adopt the boy and his siblings, she wondered at what the church would have to do to earn his ire. Furthermore, she knew she shouldn’t be lying to Ashe, but she so desperately wanted to avoid seeing any one of her students as despondent as they had been after the last battle.

She could only hope that, as Seteth promised, there would be no bloodshed on their next journey.


	4. Chapter 4

Although they had set out long after the main force of the Knights of Seiros, Byleth had led her class into a massacre. The fog had only grown thicker as they travelled north, and they were forced to meet Lonato on the field of battle. Ashe had watched in horror as Catherine cut down the man who took him in and treated him as a son; worse still, they were set upon by a militia force, and Byleth, unable to maintain order in the ranks, had watched as her students had killed once again - this time, not bandits, but ordinary men and women who had raised arms against the church.

In all her years spent fighting, she had come to know the difference between a trained fighter, and a villager with a pitchfork. Going up against an experienced combattant meant any mistake would be met with death; when fighting desperate commonfolk, however, they would surrender once incapacitated. They were simply fighting for their homes, for their land or their lord, and could be reasoned with. Their lives could be spared.

Her students did not know this.

No lives were spared on that day.

She had expected a repeat of the last battle; forlorn faces and long silences as they made the journey home. Instead, she was met with something far worse; her students managing to make quiet conversation as they walked, occasionally even laughing at the odd joke. She wondered if she had dulled them to the sensation of taking a life so quickly. She wondered if she was turning them into monsters, just like her.

Ashe was the exception. When Lonato had fallen, he had screamed; a strangled sound that cut across the battlefield, the anguished cry of a boy who had spent his life watching his family die before him. He collapsed so quickly that she had rushed over to him, called a healer. As he was taken away, sobbing and gasping for breath, she could do nothing but watch. This was her fault. She could have stopped Catherine. She could have stopped her students. Nobody would have had to die, if she had only taken command as a leader should. She had told Ashe that his father would be safe, and instead, he watched him die. 

Once the battle was done, she had gone over to Lonato’s corpse. They had found a document detailing an assassination attempt on the archbishop, but her mind was elsewhere. She had no words to offer to the man who had died on her watch - the man who had adopted three children from the streets, the man who had taught them to read and write and loved them as if they were his own. She couldn’t even summon tears for him. She could only stare down at the figure lying in the mud, and hope that he would show her the same forgiveness he had shown to the thief he had caught in his own home. She didn’t deserve it.

They returned to the monastery with barely a scratch on them. Compared to the last battle, where many had suffered cuts, bruises or broken bones, there was barely a scratch on any of them now. Of course, she thought bitterly; it had been a slaughter, not a battle. She watched as Ashe, still crying silently, tear stains marking his cheeks, his clothes still caked in mud, headed for the cathedral. She wished she could do anything to help ease his pain, but she knew it wasn’t her place . Speaking to him now would only make matters worse. He deserved to find some peace at that moment; Lonato’s blood was on her hands.

Lessons resumed the next day, and to Byleth’s surprise, Ashe was present. She watched him throughout the day - he was barely paying attention, and spent the day quietly sniffling or rubbing his face with his sleeve, but he attended every single lesson. As the day wore on, she felt increasingly consumed by guilt that she had caused him so much suffering, and yet he was here, trying to carry on as normal. She resolved to seek him out once the day was done; although she doubted she could help, feeling helpless was worse. Perhaps it was a selfish motive, but she needed to at least _try._

As the final bell rang and the class emptied, however, she was surprised to find that he approached her. He was still sniffling, and tears began to flow before he had even reached her desk. She looked over his shoulder to watch the last of her students leave the room, and when she was sure they were alone, she turned her attention back to him. He stood clutching his books to his chest and holding back shaking sobs. She hardly knew where to begin.

“Ashe, I…” She could find no words to express the depth of her remorse.

“Professor,” his voice broke, he could barely get the words out; “you said it would be okay.”

“I know, I’m sorry-”

“My brother and sister left the castle last night. Th-They don’t have a home any more,” his tone was despondent, not accusative. Byleth opened her mouth but the words refused to come. “Why, professor? You told me Lonato would be okay, you told me!” He started to openly weep, his body heaving, gasping for breath in between words. “He would never go against the church, it was a misunderstanding, Lonato would never-” Ashe was cut off by the sound of his own choking sobs.

“I’m sorry…” Byleth’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“He-he was my father, and you told me - you said - you said nobody would die!” 

“I’m sorry.” It was all she could do to mumble apologies at him.

“Why…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Why?” He looked her directly in the eyes as he asked again. “Why did he have to die?”

The knot in Byleth’s throat made it impossible to speak. She barely managed to croak out her response; the truth, the only thing she had to offer him.

“I don’t know.”

Ashe stared at her wide-eyed for a moment. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long. She looked away and bit her lip. She deserved this. It was her fault. She didn’t look up as he turned and ran out of the classroom. She felt tears pricking her eyes as he left; once again, she willed them to come, she _wanted_ to cry, but there was nothing. More than sad, she simply felt empty. Since she had arrived at Garreg Mach, she had brought nothing but pain.

She wished that she had the answers to his questions; it was no use pressing Rhea for information, and the knights simply followed her orders. As she reflected on everything that happened, she recalled Seteth’s words; he had promised that the students would not see battle. Would he really knowingly lie to her? She had to find out.

She marched to the main building, making her way to Seteth’s office. She opened the door without bothering to knock. He was sitting behind his desk working, and jumped as she entered, striding up close to stand over him, the desk still between them.

“Byleth, I heard abo-”

“Why?” She spoke through gritted teeth. Anger was surging, starting to slowly replace the chronic misery that had plagued her.

“Lonato, it is clear to us now, was plotting against the church-” Seteth stumbled over his words, taken aback by her intensity.

“The note was found after he was killed! Why didn’t the knights reach him sooner? Why didn’t they take him in for questioning?” She started to raise her voice.

“There was a thick fog - Lonato and his militia attacked first - I was not there, I do not know the particulars of-”

“Why them, Seteth? Why _my_ kids? Haven’t they suffered enough?” She was shouting at him now. She thought she had come here for answers, but this felt better - felt as if she had someone else to blame.

“Once again you are asking me to read Lady Rhea’s mind, I simply can not-”

“You promised me!” The door to his office was still flung open; she heard her voice echoing down the hallway. She didn’t care. “You promised me that the knights would deal with it! That they wouldn’t-”

“That’s enough!” Byleth was shocked into silence as he stood suddenly, slamming his palms on the table. “Byleth, I am not working against you,” he spoke firmly, clearly restraining himself.

Byleth looked down at her hands, and only then did she realise how badly she was shaking. She had never been very emotional, but wherever the Black Eagles were involved, she found herself more invested than she had ever been in anything, perhaps in her entire life. Seteth sighed as she looked down, and moved to close the door behind her. When privacy had been restored, he sat back at his desk.

“Please, will you permit me now to speak?” She nodded without looking up. “First; I am sorry. I did promise you that the students would not have to draw their blades, and I was wrong.” She found herself softening as she heard the genuine remorse in his voice. “If I had known this was going to happen, I would have worked to prevent it. However, we must deal with the circumstances as they are now.” She nodded once more; he was right, she knew that. She wanted answers where there were none, and her anger would help no-one.

“We have to help Ashe.” Her own voice sounded strange to her, raspy and broken from shouting.

“I agree. I will focus on helping the boy using my current methods. On the other hand, I will need your assistance in putting a stop to this assassination attempt.” He always was so focused and practical; she wondered if he had ever even felt emotion.

“My assistance? Or do you mean that my students must once more be put in danger by the church?” She couldn’t help but feel bitter towards him.

“Actually, I was about to suggest that you do bring them on this mission.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he simply held up his hand. “Please, hear me out. If there is to be an attempt on the day of the rite of rebirth, then nowhere in the monastery will be truly safe. I suggest that rather than leave your students as possible targets - being the future leaders of Adrestia, they are prime candidates for kidnapping, after all - you should arm your class and help repel any possible attack.” Byleth considered the idea for a moment; it was true that she couldn’t possibly shelter them all from assassins, and perhaps engaging in an active defense would even lift spirits. She knew her students were not the sort to be content with passivity in the face of danger. She bit her lip. Seteth had a terrible habit of making an awful lot of sense.

“Do you promise that no-one will get hurt?”

“We both know that is not within my power to guarantee.” She knew he wouldn’t be able to promise it, she knew she was just longing for the comfort of his words, but her stomach still twisted into knots at what he said. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, giving a slow nod.

“Alright. I’ll plan accordingly.” He gave her a thin, forced smile.

“As will I. I shall be in contact with Ashe, but please do let me know how he gets along in class.”

She tried to force a smile herself, but could only manage a grimace. As she departed, she wondered if she was putting too much trust in Seteth; he was an agent of the church, a close associate of Rhea - the very same one who had put her students in danger in the first place - and yet she had no choice but to rely on him. 

Doubts swirled in her mind as she prepared herself for what was to come.

\- - -

Unsure if it was really in her students’ best interests to continuously press on with classes and training despite the looming peril of the assassination attempt, and wondering if perhaps they had all become numb to the near constant risk of death, Byleth found time passing quickly as she taught. She made sure to watch Ashe in particular; he still wouldn’t make eye contact with her, but over the days his mood improved slightly, and she noted his behaviours to share with Seteth. They found themselves speaking to each other more and more as they compared notes on the wellbeing of each student, the tension of their conversations slowly melting into an easy comfort. 

It was at the end of the week that Byleth spotted Flayn in the dining hall, arriving once again just as everyone else was leaving. Wanting to avoid any bad blood with her newfound ally, she was content to simply smile at her, but the girl had other plans.

“Professor!” Flayn exclaimed brightly, and Byleth couldn’t help but let her smile fall a little. The last thing she needed at this moment was a confrontation with Seteth, just as things were starting to go smoothly once again.

“Good afternoon, Flayn.” Byleth tried to sound polite, but she was already planning her exit strategy.

“I hear that things are going well with my brother,” she giggled, capturing Byleth attention. “He talks about you often, you know.”

“Does he really? I can’t imagine what kinds of things he must say about me…” She had to admit, it was indeed interesting that Seteth spoke to Flayn of their business; then again, the two were very close, so Byleth shouldn’t feel so surprised.

“He says that you are both working very hard together!” Flayn smiled up at her expectantly, bouncing on her heels.

“That’s… good. I’m sorry Flayn, was there something-”

“Did you know it’s my birthday next week, professor?” Flayn clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Oh? That’s wonderful! How old are you turning?” Byleth felt a little awkward - she only knew the birthdays of the students in her house, and even then she always found herself rushing down to the market to buy them flowers as a last-minute gift. Celebrating such events was still a somewhat foreign concept to her.

“A lady never reveals her age!” Flayn winked at her. Byleth marvelled at such a young girl providing that response - although it was likely she had picked it up from Manuela. She decided to play along.

“Of course, please forgive me,” she said graciously, giving a little exaggerated bow. “Do you have any special plans?”

“Well, my birthday falls on Saint Cethleann’s Day, so I’ll be spending it in the cathedral, singing hymns and observing the traditions.” Byleth felt a little lost; she had never heard of the Four Saints before arriving at Garreg Mach, and she could barely recall their names on a good day. Furthermore, it saddened her that Flayn was being forced to spend what was clearly a special day to her observing religious rituals; she wondered if this was Seteth’s influence.

“Is that… fun?” She found herself dancing around the topic, trying not to offend.

“It is very much so! I look forward to it every year; in fact, I was wondering if you’d like to partake in the ceremonies with us this year?”

“Flayn, that’s a very generous invitation, but I’m teaching all week-”

“It’s okay if you can only make it in the evening too, we will be singing hymns until late!” Flayn was almost pleading with her. Looking down at her eager eyes and earnest expression, Byleth found it impossible to say no.

“Very well then,” she sighed, “but it had better be as exciting as you make it out to be!” Now it was her turn to wink at the girl. Flayn made a high pitched excited noise, and danced happily away with her dinner tray.

Byleth worried for the girl an awful lot - she seemed so isolated, so desperate for any conversation; and yet she was kind and easy to speak with, if a little overzealous. Even so, she surprised herself when she accepted the invite; she had no idea what had come over her, but an evening spent in the cathedral praying quietly, or even singing, was surely to be a welcome break from her usual evening routine, even if it meant spending more time with Seteth. 

As she left the dining hall, the realisation started to dawn on her that she truly had no idea what she had signed up for - she knew next to nothing of rituals, and thinking on the subject, couldn’t even name a single hymn. She decided to visit the library on the weekend; she felt tired of facing situations unprepared, without all the facts. While this was certainly a far cry from the battlefield, she would still feel happier at least knowing who Saint Cethleann was, and what deeds she was famous for.

It was there in the library, early in the morning, that Seteth found her. As she poured over a large tome - a biography of the saints and Seiros herself - her concentration was interrupted by his measured tone coming from behind her.

“It’s surprising to see you studying here at this hour.”

“Good morning to you too, Seteth,” she didn’t even flinch as she mumbled back a response, trying to maintain her focus.

“You must be very interested in the topic indeed to be here on your day off,” he gently probed her, as he set down the stack of books he was carrying, starting to neatly place them back on the shelves.

“I’m reading about the saints,” Byleth sighed. She had a short attention span when it came to religious affairs regardless, and he was not helping.

“Oh? I didn’t think you cared for such things.”

“Usually I don’t, but Flayn has invited me to celebrate Saint Cethleann’s Day with you both on her birthday. I assume she told you as much?” She looked up at him then, squinting as he was framed by the morning light glinting through the tall windows. She just about caught the errant twitch of an eyebrow.

“Of course she told me.” Byleth knew she hadn’t told him. “It is only fitting that you partake in the observation; you are in the employ of the church after all.” She turned away from him, rolling her eyes. They both knew she was only doing this because she couldn’t refuse Flayn. He continued to try and make conversation as he filed away the tomes. “What have you managed to discover about our dear Saint Cethleann?”

She once again returned her attention to the book open on the table before her. “She seemed to be kind and caring, and there’s much here about her famed healing skills. I suppose she’s the exact sort of person you’d imagine a saint to be.”

“Indeed, Saint Cethleann is prized among all the saints for her unending compassion.” She could hear the pride in his voice, and it deeply irritated her, for reasons just beyond her grasp. She decided to retaliate a little.

“Of course, the rest of them were completely insufferable.”

“I’m sorry?” Byleth grinned to herself as she heard that pride turn into indignation.

“It seems to me that Macuil was uninterested in the state of the world at large; such an odd attitude for a saint. Then, there’s Cichol - always meddling in the affairs of his daughter, I find myself perpetually annoyed by his presence. At least Indech’s awkwardness is somewhat charming, I suppose.” She sat back in her chair and gave him her most innocent smile, as she watched his face twitch yet again. There was little fun to be had at the monastery, but mildly angering Seteth had become one of her favourite games to play; and she was awfully good at it.

“I see. You are most observant. I trust those are helping, then?” He tapped the side of his head now, and it was his turn to smile innocently. Byleth’s hands flew up to her face to feel the glasses that sat there. She had become so used to their presence when reading, she hardly noticed them. She felt a flush rising once again; it was a sensitive topic for her.

“Oh, I hardly need them, really, I simply enjoy receiving compliments on them.” She bit her lip as he returned the last of his books. She had walked right into that one.

“Very well then; I’ll leave you to your work.” He chuckled to himself as he left, only serving to infuriate Byleth further.

She tried to continue her research, but found herself completely unable to maintain concentration. She knew she had lost in their little tirade, and rather than studying she sat replaying the conversation in her head, thinking up witty comebacks to his remarks. After ten minutes spent reading the same line over and over again as she heard Seteth’s goading tone bouncing around her own mind, she sighed and set the book aside. She would give up for now, but she still had much to learn about the church.

Instead, she elected to finally go to breakfast, still mumbling little comebacks to herself on the way.

\- - -

Saint Cethleann’s Day passed without much fanfare. The atmosphere inside the cathedral was incredibly serene, and Byleth, unable to partake in any of the singing, found herself almost falling asleep after yet another long day of teaching. After she had struggled to stay awake, she felt a little guilty when Flayn thanked her profusely for joining in the ceremony, but didn’t quite appreciate Seteth’s snide remark about her spending the entire evening in “deep contemplation”.

As the days passed, however, she found herself more and more caught up in the preparations for the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth. Pilgrims flooded the monastery, bringing with them much excitement and cheer, and Byleth spent most of her free time browsing the market for the new goods that had been brought in from all over Fódlan. Despite this, she was still desperately worried about the possible assassination attempt on the day of the ritual; if assassins really did make it as far as the cathedral itself, would her students really be able to hold them back? So far they had only faced bandits and militia - could they truly hold their own against such trained killers?

The day before the ritual, she decided to address her class on the matter. They had already received their mission, but she was bothered by their behaviour - it seems that the festive atmosphere had everyone excited, but she wondered if they knew the gravity of the danger that they would soon face. Even Ashe seemed to be feeling more himself, she noted; although he wasn’t exactly cheerful, he had at least stopped crying in class, participating a little more in lessons. She stood before them now, trying to get their attention after just wrapping up a long day of lectures. She tried to raise her voice to be heard above the din.

“I know that you must all be disappointed to not be actively taking part in the festivities tomorrow-”

“No worries, professor!” She was instantly cut off by Caspar, who had been busy building a wall of books around a dozing Linhardt. “I’d much rather be fighting than doing some boring church ritual any day!”

“That’s not-”

“Of course, traditions are important, but we have a duty to protect the people of the monastery!” Ferdinand interrupted her with a flourish. Byleth was growing desperate - they really didn’t seem to understand the peril. She sighed deeply to herself.

“This is going to be a very risky situation. I’m asking you all to give up your free time on a very important day, and I understand if anyone feels that they are unable to participate.” She addressed no-one in particular, but as her students heard the sadness in her voice, they became quiet. Edelgard was the first to speak up.

“We know that, professor,” she said gently “But we really do want to help. I appreciate that you are concerned for us, but we can more than look after ourselves, and besides - we’ll have you on our side, won’t we?” Some of the other students nodded, and the sincerity with which she spoke helped to put Byleth at ease.

Still, as her classroom emptied for the day, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was right that her students had become so blasé in the face of death. As much as it calmed her to know that they felt confident about battle - a few of them righteous, even - she couldn’t help but marvel at the inherent wrongness of the situation that stuck with her. She had grown up in a much harsher environment, and part of her was even proud of that; but she by no means wished that on others. All she could do now, however, was stay by her students’ side, come what may. 

As she retired for the evening, it gave her a little comfort to know that she wasn’t alone in caring for their wellbeing. She doubted that her students were aware of how closely she worked with Seteth to keep things running smoothly. What had started as a makeshift arrangement had quickly turned into a partnership of sorts, and therein lay a truth that scared Byleth a little. Far gone from trusting him, their relationship had developed into something that was, in her eyes, much worse; she _relied_ on him. As she was by her students’ side in all things, he would help her, she need only ask. She knew that for a fact, and yet, it was still so difficult to ask in the first place.

That reliance lulled her into a false sense of security - perhaps that is why she did not feel as scared as she should have, leading the students down to the mausoleum on that fateful day, so unaware that the events to come would change the course of fate.


	5. Chapter 5

Facing down trained assassins in battle had been more difficult than even Byleth had anticipated. The last few months of constant training and field experience had served them well - the moment anyone fell, Linhardt rushed his way over to pick them up, and Bernadetta and Ashe had rained arrows down on their foes from the back lines. It had started well enough, with Byleth yelling out commands as her students rushed around her. For a short time, they worked as one cohesive unit. This group that had spent most of their waking moments together, and had already struggled through hardship together - Byleth included - fought as one. 

However, after facing down waves upon waves of foes, they started to tire and falter; then all of a sudden there came a sound that Byleth would never forget. Bernadetta’s high pitched scream echoed around the mausoleum; Byleth looked just in time to see Caspar fall. His armour torn asunder by dark magic, she watched as one of the assassins tore a spear from where he had embedded it in his abdomen. Immediately she ran over, quickly taking down the assailant; but it was all she could do to scream at the others to hold formation as Linhardt rushed to Caspar’s side. The boy was just about conscious, and that was when she had to make an incredibly difficult decision; to save Caspar’s life, sending some of her students to accompany him as he quit the field, and continue to fight without a healer - or, to risk Caspar’s life to ensure victory.

It took her barely a second to process what had happened, but the moment seemed to stretch out to infinity. Ultimately, she ordered Sylvain to help carry Caspar away, and Linhardt followed, continuing to frantically do all he could to staunch the bleeding.

The rest of the fight was tougher for this; and yet, slowly but surely, they cut through each foe, Byleth taking the lead. The entire time, they were watched by a menacing knight clad only in black armour, who simply observed them, nothing more. The strangest occurrence, however, came at the battle’s close; the sword Byleth had picked up, that which she now knew to be a hero’s relic, had awakened at her touch. The knights had arrived just in time to watch her cut down the last enemy, and once they had secured the area, and were sure the threat was over, she had run as fast as her legs would carry her to the infirmary, still covered in blood, hero’s relic and all.

To her great relief, Caspar was still alive. Manuela had quickly shooed her out of the room, but Byleth only left after hearing her promise that he would be alright.

She had barely listened as Rhea told her about the sword she had found; she had no energy left to argue as Rhea had condemned members of the western church, ordering the execution of those who admitted no crime. Rather, Byleth’s mind was with her students; she couldn’t shake the image of their broken and bloody faces, and Caspar, in a critical state. Manuela came to her afterwards, to tell her he would be unable to attend lessons for at least a month as he recovered, and that training was out of the question for at least another month after that. 

She was weary, and wanted only to sleep, to rest. Only while she was asleep could she escape the responsibilities of her waking life; in her dreams, she could put no-one in danger. She still felt guilt and shame; she still took all the blame for every minor injury her students suffered. 

She had passed Ferdinand on the way back to her quarters - he had asked her if there were to be classes tomorrow. She didn’t hear his words as he spoke of Bernadetta locking herself away in her room again, or Linhardt feeling responsible for what happened to Caspar. All she could do was stare at his black eye, the cuts on his cheek, his lip - when he asked her again if she was going to teach tomorrow, she simply shook her head. They all needed time to rest after what had happened.

Byleth awoke in the morning having barely slept. Still feeling sore from the battle, she no longer felt numb - instead, that familiar seething rage was boiling inside her once again. Their experiences in battle had made her students strong. They had fought off would-be killers deftly, they had remained strong when their comrade fell, and ultimately, they were victorious. But it came at a cost. Each battle survived brought with it new skills and knowledge, true - but each battle brought more and more risk, and each time they fought, she exposed the students to new horrors that would stick with them forever.

She had taken orders from the church for too long. She had come to care for her students, and Rhea had a blatant disregard for their safety - the next time the church tried to put her class in danger, she decided she would simply refuse the order. Despite telling herself this, the indignation she felt would not simmer down. She found herself unable to focus; too angry to go to breakfast (or perhaps simply too ashamed to face her class) she instead opted to go for a brisk walk around the monastery grounds. Even so, her plans were cut short; as she passed through the main hall, she found herself climbing the stairs to the faculty offices. 

She gave the infirmary door a polite knock, and waited until she heard Manuela’s tired voice inviting her in. She entered to the sight of blood-stained sheets piled on the floor, boxes of potions and ointments haphazardly strewn about the room, and Manuela’s haggard form sat next to Caspar’s bed. She lacked her usual flair; instead, she simply gave Byleth a weary nod.

“I’ll give you two some time,” was all she said as she left the room. Caspar stirred as she left, and turned to face Byleth.

For the first time since the incident, she caught a good look at his face. Much like Ferdinand, his eye sockets were bruised, and he was covered in scars; but as he saw her, he gave her a little smile, and her heart broke for him. She quickly made her way to his bedside.

“Hey, professor,” Caspar’s voice was strained, but she could hear his usual playful tone.

“How are you feeling?” It was a stupid question, but she didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m fine, really,” he tried to laugh but it came out a scratchy, breathy sound. “Professor Manuela says I have to spend at least a month resting, but I told her I would be fine to come to class today.”

“I’m sorry.” Byleth bit her lip. “Caspar, I truly am. I know th-”

“Come on professor” he interrupted her lamentations, still wearing his usual cheeky grin. “It was my fault really, I walked right into it.” She sighed. At least he hadn’t lost his carefree attitude; she hoped he was just trying to look tough.

“If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, then just say the word.” He nodded at her, and they sat in silence for a little while, until he spoke again.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Caspar?”

“Do you think they’ll let me fight in the battle of the eagle and lion?” She shook her head.

“Caspar, that’s only two months away,” she warned him. “You’ll still be recovering.” He furrowed his brows, and she prepared herself for his angry tirade. Instead, he surprised her by smiling as wide as he could, given the state of his face.

“In that case, I’ll just have to recover as quickly as possible!” He sounded hopeful; cheerful even. She gave him a little pat on the back of his hand as Manuela re-entered the room; she was unable to even force a smile. 

She wished him well and made to leave; on her way to the door, Manuela quickly grabbed her by the arm. Making eye contact, she spoke no words as her hand slid down to Byleth’s, squeezing it for a quick second. Then she let go, and returned to tending to Caspar. Byleth stood still for just a moment, shocked by the gesture of empathy - it was clear that she, too, cared for the children here.

As she left the infirmary, that knowledge only served to spark further rage. The students had caring teachers, professors who wanted them to do well - and yet with Rhea pulling the strings, they were constantly being put in danger. Byleth could stand to sit idly by no longer - she marched down the hall, through the audience chamber and into the antechamber that served as Rhea’s office. The archbishop was nowhere to be found. Incensed beyond rational thought, she stormed out - but the sight of the closed door of Seteth’s office made her stop in her tracks. Even if Rhea wasn’t there, he was still at fault - he was her right-hand man, and perhaps the only one who would talk some sense into her, and yet despite all of his help, he had simply let the situation worsen. 

Byleth couldn’t stop herself; she had lost all sense of self control. She threw open his door without bothering to knock. Seteth barely had time to look up from his work before the words started to pour out of her.

“Executing church officials, putting children in danger, cutting down good men and innocent civilians - tell me, is there no stop to the lengths you will go?” As she spoke she raised her voice, louder and louder. “What are you trying to accomplish? What good does it do the church if these children bleed? Tell me!” She paused for breath, still stood in the doorway to Seteth’s office. He rose and moved towards her slowly.

“Byleth, I understand that you must be feeling very upset.” He spoke slowly and gently, as if to some wild creature. “If you would come in, we can talk about this matter privately-”

“No!” She shook her head furiously; she couldn’t bear to hear his lies any longer. “None of this! You are not my friend - you only do as Rhea commands, even if that is to hurt people you claim to protect!” He furrowed his brows at that, but still kept his voice low as he responded.

“You know we share our concern for the students - and whatever you may think of Lady Rhea, she possesses wisdom beyond anyone I have ever known. Indeed, it was she who entrusted you with the Sword of the Creator; personally, I still don’t trust you enough to care for such a precious artefact.”

“Oh, _you_ still don’t trust _me_? That’s odd Seteth, considering that I’m the one who has been trying to save the lives of innocents, to try and keep children out of danger - I’ve been the one dealing with _your_ problems, and yet you still say that you don’t trust me?”

“That’s enough!” Seteth shouted at her. It was enough to quieten her - she had never heard him raise his voice like this before. “Lady Rhea has been generous enough to take you in, to provide you with employ far less dangerous than mercenary work, and to entrust you with a relic of untold power, and yet you continue to defy her! You know nothing of the church, you know nothing of the dangers we face - in fact, you know nothing at all of true danger, beyond petty thieves and bandit lords - and despite all the help I have given you, you still _dare_ to blame me for the actions of our enemy?” 

“If it wasn’t for Rhea, then the children wouldn’t have-”

“If it wasn’t for Lady Rhea, you wouldn’t even be here!” The seething bitterness in his words shocked her into silence. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. He started to step towards her menacingly, and as much as she wanted to stand her ground, she found herself backing up, until she was back in the hallway. Still standing in the doorway to his office, he stared down at her - she had never seen eyes so full of vitriol and hate. Without another word, he shut the door, leaving her in the hallway, shaking uncontrollably. 

Byleth made her way back out into the freshness of the morning air. She felt so twisted up inside. On the one hand, she _knew_ that she was right, that she needed to protect her students from all harm. On the other, she also felt that she had done something very wrong, to make Seteth so mad at her. It had been so much easier when it was just her and Jeralt; there was nobody to protect, nobody to upset, no orders to be carried out coming from above - life was much simpler. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder what Seteth had meant when he had mentioned “true danger”. Surely there was no truer danger than those who threatened the lives of common folk? What other threats could the church possibly be working against?

As she continued her walk around the monastery grounds, her head spun with these thoughts. Usually, she was able to let go of her troubles and focus on the task at hand, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from obsessing over the church - Seteth, Flayn, and Lady Rhea - she felt as though there must be some deeper conspiracy to justify their actions, but merely considering such a thing made her question her sanity. Then, there was the Sword of the Creator - the seemingly powerful relic had chosen her, somehow, and that worried her. She knew so little of such things, but her intuition told her that this was yet another responsibility she would have to juggle.

She decided to take some time to calm down, before visiting the library to search for answers. She would have to learn more about the hero’s relics eventually, but for now, she desperately wanted to avoid another confrontation. The problem was just that - she wasn’t quite sure how to calm down. If she needed a distraction from a hard day at work, she would usually find her students in the dining hall; however, that wasn’t an option today. If she felt stressed or anxious, she would head to the training grounds to help relieve her tension; but this was different. Her mind kept replaying those moments in Seteth’s office, the way he had looked at her, the tone of his voice when he had spoken to her.

It was a confusing mixture of emotions - she wanted nothing more than for them to return to their usual sarcastic quips and comments, but she knew it wasn’t that easy. Part of her wanted to return there to talk to him again, but she knew that if she did that, she would simply start another fight. She wouldn’t compromise on her position - so why did she feel so wrong about this? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was a horrible, beautiful thing to care about other people. She felt grateful to have friends, and people she could rely on, and students that respected her; but it was all so fleeting and fragile. At any second she could lose her friends or her students, and she wasn’t quite used to the concept. Despite all of that, though, she couldn’t bear the thought of going back to her old way of life; even if life at the monastery entailed arguments, distrust, and responsibility beyond anything she had ever experienced before, the mere thought of a nomadic life with Jeralt felt so tremendously lonely now that it scared her.

Caught up in her troubles, she didn’t hear the first time Jeralt called out to her as she walked past the graveyard. Only when he called her name a second time did she turn to see him standing at the top of the stone steps there. He furrowed his brow as she approached.

“Are you alright kid? You look as if something’s happened.” He spoke with genuine concern, but she couldn’t form a response. How could she possibly tell him how she was feeling? How could he possibly understand this turmoil that plagued her? She simply looked away and bit her lip. “Is this about what happened yesterday? Look, if Rhea is forcing you to do things you’d rather not, I can try and talk to her for you.” Byleth shook her head. He was always able to read her so well; she’d always had trouble articulating her emotions. She paused for a minute, trying to think of the right thing to say. Jeralt simply waited patiently, not expectant.

“Do you wish… that we could go back to how things were?” She looked down as she asked the question; she felt guilty for even voicing the question. He took a moment before responding.

“I suppose. I do miss the days when it was just the two of us - it was a damn sight quieter then.” He let out a deep chuckle. “But my place is here now, for the time being. What about you? Are you missing our old life?” Once again, Byleth thought about her response. She felt lucky that Jeralt always afforded her all the time she needed; allowed her to process everything in her own way.

“I… don’t know.” It was the truth, she felt. Life was certainly simpler then, and part of her wanted so much to return to that - but another part of her realised that if it meant abandoning her students, it was beyond consideration. “No.” Her sudden resolve seemed to shock Jeralt.

“You’re starting to enjoy it here, then?” 

“I think so. I enjoy teaching, and I enjoy spending time with my class, and training. I don’t enjoy talking to people sometimes. It’s hard to make them understand.” She finally looked up at him, only to see a rare smile in response.

“If you’re struggling, that means you’re learning.” He reached out to give her a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t take things too personally. Maybe they’re trying to make you understand something too.” His words comforted Byleth. Jeralt was perhaps the only person she could rely on to understand how she felt deep down, and give her the advice she needed to be able to cope. She smiled back at him; but then a thought crossed her mind, casting a shadow of doubt, and her smile fell.

“Why is it that only I can wield the Sword of the Creator?”

“Ah.” Jeralt’s smile faded at the mention of the sword. “To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not entirely sure. I don’t know much about the hero’s relics myself. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.” She felt agitated once again; she had supposed that Jeralt wouldn’t know the details, but confirming that this was the case only made her feel more upset and alone. Seemingly sensing her distress, he continued. “That said, the way I see it, the church has given you a powerful weapon to use how you see fit. It may help you to protect your students.” She nodded. With those words, Jeralt had given her exactly what she had sought - a pragmatic solution to her uncertainty and anxiety. Wondering why she could wield the sword would not help her - applying it as a tool to do good in the world was the best possible resolution.

“Thank you.” Her gratitude usually went unspoken between them, but she voiced it anyway; the slight smile returned to his face. 

“You’re doing really well kid. I’m so proud of you.” Jeralt’s words shocked Byleth. He was her father, and she understood that he loved her, but he hardly ever spoke so openly of his feelings. He was a man of action rather than words; but despite that, she still managed to find comfort in what he said. “Well, I’ll let you get going now.” She gave him one last nod and continued on her round.

As she departed, Byleth couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only one who had been changed by their new life at the monastery.

\- - -

The sun hung low in the sky by the time she had built up the courage to finally visit the library. She had spent the afternoon in quiet solitude after returning from her walk, but still felt on edge from her earlier encounter with Seteth. Her seething anger had, over the course of the day, slowly subsided, leaving in its place a deep and unnerving anxiety. The hero’s relic stood propped up against the wall in the corner of her room. The mere sight of it unsettled her - with its twisted, bone-like design, it looked so realistic; worse still, she felt as though it was watching her. Its presence seemed to follow her around the room, and when she held it, she felt a strange sensation in her chest that made her feel nauseous.

She was grateful to be away from it, if only for a short time; however, as she had discovered that morning on her lap of the monastery, if she strayed too far from it, it started to call to her somehow, and she felt compelled to check on it, despite knowing that no-one had entered her quarters. She wondered if all who wielded hero’s relics felt such a strange mixture of magnetism and disgust. Catherine was the only person she knew who possessed one, but given recent events Byleth didn’t feel comfortable seeking her advice on such a sensitive topic. The library, however, held the personal records and memoirs of heroes past; there, she was sure to find something enlightening.

The route to the library took her past Seteth’s office. She rounded the corner slowly, sheepishly craning her neck to check if his door was closed. Once she confirmed that the way was clear, she walked quickly, head down, hoping to pass through the corridor without incident. Just as she had almost made it to the end, a voice called out to her.

“Ah, professor, just the woman I was looking for!” She turned to see Hanneman standing in the doorway to his office. “Would you mind stopping by for a chat? There is the matter of your crest, that I would like to discuss with you.” Byleth didn’t really have a choice. Biting her lip, she followed Hanneman inside his office. The library would have to wait. He had made her aware that she possessed a crest shortly after she arrived at Garreg Mach. At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it - it didn’t seem to change her in any way, and most of the students here also had crests. As Hanneman closed the door behind them, Byleth became even more nervous.

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yes of course - more than okay. In fact, I believe I have finally unravelled the mystery surrounding your crest!”

“You have?”

“Indeed. You can wield the Sword of the Creator, is that correct?”

“It is, but I don’t see how-”

“Then it can be quite easily confirmed that you bear the Crest of Flames!” Hanneman finished with a flourish, beaming with pride; but Byleth didn’t quite follow.

“The crest- professor Hanneman, I’m so sorry, but what does that mean?”

“A hero’s relic can only awaken if its bearer possesses a matching crest. The Sword of the Creator belonged to Nemesis, who bore a crest that we have long assumed to be lost to history. How astonishing that his bloodline should live on in you - a remarkable coincidence indeed!” Byleth’s head swam with this new information. She didn’t really see how it mattered if she bore a certain crest or could use a certain sword - but as Hanneman seemed to have knowledge on the subject, he might be able to answer the questions she had.

“So if one bears a crest - does that mean their hero’s relic… calls out to them?”

“I imagine that is a possibility, yes. However, I myself have never possessed a hero’s relic that matches my crest, so I can’t answer personally. Do you find the Sword of the Creator calls out to you, professor?”

“I do…” Byleth quickly shook her head. If she revealed too much, Hanneman would simply pry further. “It’s nothing major, though. I was just curious.” At the very least, she had the answers she had sought, but there was one more thing bothering her. “This crest - does it alter me, in any way?” Hanneman took a moment to formulate his response.

“Bearers of crests… tend to be more powerful. The nature of this power varies depending on the crest - some will find themselves more naturally talented in certain areas, others will perhaps find that they can take a blow that would otherwise fell them. It stands to reason that each crest is unique in the abilities it conveys to its bearer. The Crest of Flames was known to be incredibly powerful, but without proper study, the exact nature of its power has long been unknown. This is why I must _implore_ you professor, to aid me in my studies of your crest - your cooperation could further the field of crestology by an incredible amount!”

“Alright, alright,” Byleth agreed, exasperated. At this point, she was keen to leave Hanneman’s office. “Take whatever samples you need from me.” 

By the time she finally managed to take her leave and make her way back to her own quarters, she felt the pull of the sword once more. As she entered, she felt a rush of relief to see it propped up exactly where she had left it - but it was strange, as if she were feeling emotions not entirely her own. Beginning her preparations for the next day’s lesson plans, she couldn’t keep her mind off the subject - Seteth’s words still echoed in her head. Why didn’t he trust her with it? Were hero’s relics really so powerful, so precious, that one had to be trained in their use? Or was the Sword of the Creator special somehow? Whatever the reason, she refused to believe that he personally distrusted her with a weapon of such power. In the last few months, they had grown close enough to have confidence in each other’s abilities, at the very least; she found it difficult to stomach that Seteth would think her incapable or incompetent.

Byleth shook her head to try to clear her mind. She clung to Jeralt’s words - the true nature of the sword was inconsequential to her; it was only how she used it that mattered. If she could exploit its power to protect those she cared about, then it was worth any discomfort it caused her. Besides, she had promised herself that the next time the church tried to endanger the lives of her students, she would defy orders, and she entirely intended to follow through on that.

\- - -

Another week of lessons passed without much incident. The events that had transpired in the mausoleum were somewhat of a taboo topic in class; whenever Caspar’s name was brought up, the students suddenly became quiet, and the topic was always changed quickly. Despite this, as long as Byleth focused their attention on lessons and training, their spirits remained generally high. She noted, too, that they were still being called out of class to visit Seteth; although her frequent meetings with him to discuss the students’ wellbeings had stopped altogether.

When Rhea had requested her presence in the audience chamber, she felt more than prepared. Seteth had been there too, although he was still acting incredibly cold towards her, and together they had briefed her on her next mission. She hadn’t thought too much of the task at first - entering Gautier territory, taking out bandits that had stolen a hero’s relic - although the mention of the Gautier relic piqued her interest, she was still fully set on refusing. That was, until Seteth had explained who exactly had stolen the relic - none other than Sylvain’s estranged brother. 

She had grappled with the decision - it was her duty to keep her students safe, true, but surely this was a matter to be resolved within the Gautier family? It felt odd to her that the church would involve themselves in this situation; especially with Sylvain being a student in her class, it seemed almost orchestrated. Still, forcing Sylvain to confront his brother as an agent of the church felt especially cruel, and there were more in her class to consider than just him. Ultimately, she had shaken her head, and simply told Rhea very politely that she would not be able to complete the mission.

To her surprise, Rhea had reacted with a slight smile, and an equally polite tone. She had responded that if Byleth felt unable to complete the task, then the Blue Lions would be sent in her stead. Immediately, Byleth had felt guilt gnawing at her - in making an active decision to defend her students from harm, she was also sentencing another class to face those same dangers. A class which, she presumed, was far less experienced than her own. Rhea had paused, waiting for a response; and in that moment, Byleth’s stubbornness overcame her. She knew that Rhea was playing games with her, trying to force her hand; but beyond her compassion for the students, or her own moral code, her spite won out. If Rhea wanted her to graciously accept the mission for the Black Eagles, then she would do the very opposite, consequences be damned. She had smiled and left the two of them behind as she took her leave; she refused to be manipulated by the church.

Byleth had never been one to defy authority; although truthfully, there had never really been a strong figure of authority in her life. Jeralt had always allowed her whatever freedoms she desired, and in turn, he had her unending respect. Returning to teach class after turning down the mission felt, in its own way, a little exhilarating; she felt as though she had avoided some great disaster, and taking control of her own fate, and that of her students, made her feel a little rush of power. Of course, she still felt responsible for passing the baton to the Blue Lions - but the decision had been made, and she tried to push those feelings to the back of her mind, to focus on the task at hand. 

She was not yet free of the problem, however. Only a few days later, Sylvain hung around the classroom as the rest of the students filed out after a long day of lessons; as she stretched out and sat herself behind her desk, he approached her, looking worried.

“Sylvain, is there something you need?” Each day spent teaching was as tiring as the last, but today had passed without much incident, and she felt more relaxed than usual. However, seeing the lack of the usual smirk on Sylvain’s face, she started to feel a little uneasy.

“Actually, professor, there’s a rumour going around, and I’d like you to confirm if it’s true, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course, what would that be?”

“I’ve heard the Blue Lions are to ride out soon to… deal with my brother. I know he’s been making a nuisance of himself, but now he’s apparently stolen our house’s relic.” Byleth bit her lip. She knew he’d find out sooner rather than later - he did spend an awful lot of time with his friends in the other house.

“Well, that is-”

“What’s more, I heard that you turned down the mission.” This shocked Byleth - surely Hanneman hadn’t revealed this detail to his students?

“I did, Sylvain; my priority is to keep everybody safe-”

“Miklan is _my_ brother, professor. I should be the one to deal with him.” A darkness had overcome him like she had never seen, and it unsettled her deeply.

“I thought that you wouldn't want to face him in battle, if it came to that.”

“It was never your right to make that decision!” A cold silence started to descend upon the room. Byleth stood up slowly.

“Sylvain…”

“You can’t go and leave me behind, professor. If you try - I’ll just go without you!” She had never heard him speak with such passion and vigor before.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you had such a strong bond with your brother.” Truthfully, Byleth couldn’t relate much to matters of family, but it seemed to her that if Sylvain was this upset, he must care for his brother a great deal.

“I don’t,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I just… Look, Miklan is my brother, and that makes him my responsibility.”

“Your responsibility? I don’t quite think I follow.” Sylvain groaned.

“I know you wouldn’t understand. Sorry professor, it’s just… I know you have a crest and all, but you didn’t grow up in a noble family; you don’t know how these things work.” He seemed to have calmed down; Byleth considered simply wrapping up the conversation and leaving, but she decided to at least try and talk to him; perhaps she could replicate some of Seteth’s strategies. She gestured for him to pull up a chair, not expecting him to take up the offer; but to her surprise, he did so.

“You’re right Sylvain, I don’t understand,” she started, taking a seat herself. “What… what exactly happened between you and Miklan? It seems to me that you care for him, and yet, you speak of him as a burden.” Byleth was completely out of her depth now, asking such prying questions, but she tried to at least sound confident.

“Well, Miklan’s my older brother, but he was born without a crest. That means he can’t inherit the family estate.”

“If he doesn’t have a crest, doesn’t that mean he can’t unlock the power of the hero’s relic? Why has he stolen it?” Sylvain snorted.

“Why wouldn’t he? Can’t you imagine how he feels? His birthright, stripped away from him by me - of course he would try and take it back.” Byleth didn’t quite know how to respond.

“He’s your brother - I’m sure that he cares about you-”

“He doesn’t. He’s always resented me for what I am, for what I’ve done to him, and honestly; I can’t blame him.” Sylvain sat with his chin in his hands, refusing to make eye contact with her.

“Sylvain, it seems to me that you didn’t do anything to him.” Sylvain looked at her then, but didn’t respond. “You were simply born with a crest. If you can understand his… frustration towards you, then I’m sure that deep down, he knows that you’re innocent.” Once again, Sylvain simply stared at her. “I can see that this means a lot to you, and I’m sorry that I made the decision on your behalf.” At that, he finally stirred.

“It’s alright, professor. I know you were just looking out for us.” Byleth felt taken aback - the criticism in his voice had dissolved away completely, giving way to forgiveness. She hadn’t expected such a response; is this all that Seteth had been doing? She started to doubt whether she needed his help at all, were it this easy. She knew what had to be done, however, as much as she hated what she was about to say; it had been her responsibility all along, and she could avoid it no longer.

“I’ll talk to Rhea, and make sure the Black Eagles are assigned this task.” Sylvain almost jumped out of his seat at her words.

“You would do that? For me?”

“If you’re going to face Miklan regardless, I’d rather be there, standing alongside you.” She managed a weary smile. “I’d like to make sure that you’re safe.” Sylvain paused for a moment, unable to properly express his gratitude; that is, until his face contorted into his usual sly smirk.

“Well well, professor, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve developed a little crush on me,” he chirped. Byleth rolled her eyes, but felt deeply relieved - he was back.

He winked at her as he left, and she decided to ignore the gesture, just this once. Once he was gone however, she let her smile drop; she had to consider her next course of action. She didn’t like that she would have to speak to Rhea to resolve this; but she decided that she would do so in private. She didn’t want to broadcast her failures in decision making to Seteth, especially after what had happened between them. Then, there was the mission itself to consider - she was familiar with kingdom geography, and the Gautier territory lay far to the north. It would take them days to ride there and back; the operation would need a lot of planning.

Resigning herself to last minute preparation, she could only hope she had made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for the lovely comments, they are much appreciated. I'd like to take a moment to rededicate this fic to my good friend Sam (and any other Sams reading!) as well as anyone who is reading along and enjoying during these difficult times. I hope you are all staying safe x


	6. Chapter 6

As they had travelled further and further north into Kingdom territory, Byleth and her class had encountered the first signs of Autumn; the warm summer days came to a close as they found themselves facing a cold wind that grew more and more bitter with each day’s travel. Miklan had holed himself up atop an ancient tower; when they finally faced him, they were all winded from the climb. All but one that is - she had noticed that Sylvain, of all of them, never seemed to tire.

If only he had managed to negotiate with his brother, it would have been okay. Instead, they faced each other down in a bloody and bitter duel. Miklan had called out to him, taunting him, blaming him for every major disaster in his life; in response, Sylvain had barked at the others to stay back, and the coldness in his voice forced Byleth to respect his order. She would step in to save his life, of course; but this was not her fight, as much as it pained her to watch him stand alone. She winced as Sylvain barely managed to parry blows from the hero’s relic his brother wielded, feeling powerless, knowing all she could do was simply watch, and be ready should the worst come to pass. However, it became clear to her very quickly that his training had paid off. A little unsteady at first, he still managed to block every attack, to dodge Miklan’s sloppy thrusts, and take him down slowly. Avoiding causing great harm at first, as Miklan grew more desperate, Sylvain had no choice but to defend himself. He finally managed to cut down his older brother, standing above his incapacitated body, barely breathing. He turned back to Byleth, opening his mouth to speak - in that moment she could see the guilt in his eyes, and wanted nothing more than for this to be over.

Perhaps if that had been the end of it, it would have been okay. Perhaps if they had captured Miklan, unconscious, and delivered him to the Gautier household for justice, they would have left the kingdom with at the very least the knowledge that they had done their best given the circumstances. Even if Sylvain had been forced to kill his brother in single combat, it would have been okay. What actually happened was far, far worse than any possibility they could have prepared for.

Before Sylvain could say a word to Byleth; before he could call out for a healer, or to bind and capture his brother, he was interrupted by a disturbing scene. A swarming, pulsating darkness had erupted from the lance that Miklan held and started to engulf him. Byleth reached out to pull Sylvain back, and they could only stand by, powerless, as Miklan’s body writhed and twisted, his agonising screams echoing about the tower; a sight that none present would ever forget. His body was consumed, distorted into the shape of a horrifying beast, an aberration beyond anything Byleth had envisioned in her own nightmares. The beast, barely fully formed, had rushed at them, and it became quickly evident that this was an honourable duel between brothers no longer - they were all fighting for their lives now.

No strength that they could muster seemed to be enough to harm the creature, even slightly, let alone fell it. Piercing blows from lances and quick strikes with swords, well-placed arrows and all manner of spells; no matter how coordinated their attacks, the beast continued its rampage unaffected. There was one power Byleth had yet to use, however - as she finally brandished the Sword of the Creator, she felt a similar, sickening sensation. In her hands, the sword became part of her; whipping the sword out to strike the beast felt exactly as natural as simply moving her arm. Pushing forward, entirely on her own, she had driven the creature back, again and again, feeling possessed by the sword. Her mind empty of tactics and strategies, she felt its power flow through her; she felt each perfectly timed parry or blow in her muscles, an action repeated over millennia of fighting.

Only once the creature had been reduced to a swarming, pulsing mass, had her mind caught up. She looked down to the sword in her hands, still glowing, and dropped it. Had she always been capable of defeating such a monster alone? Was this the true power of the hero’s relics? Her thoughts were cut short as the mass dissipated, leaving only Miklan’s body in its wake. Sylvain wasted no time in retrieving the lance. He plucked it from where it lay in his dead brother’s hands, and turned to leave. Byleth had called out to him - asked if he wanted to bury the body, or visit his parents close by to give them the news; he had simply ignored her, continuing to walk away.

On the journey back, the cold winds set in more ferociously than ever. Her students questioned her every day as to what had happened at the tower - why Miklan had turned into that creature, what that thing even _was_ , if the hero’s relics were safe to wield - Byleth had no answers for them. Sylvain, however, had avoided her the entire way. The lance was in his charge, and Byleth had tried to keep an eye on him for that reason alone, knowing that he would refuse to talk to her about his own troubles. Still, she knew better than to follow him as he left the camp each night for solitary walks, often returning hours later, puffy-eyed and sniffling. Miklan’s blood was on her hands, and she didn’t expect nor want Sylvain to forgive her. She wished more than anything she knew how to comfort him, but she understood that it wasn’t her place. All she could do was watch.

Despite this, she felt more disturbed by the behaviour of her other students. By the time they had returned to Garreg Mach, spirits were high once again, and it was as if they had all but forgotten the events of the tower. Had they truly become so dulled to pain and suffering, so numb to horrifying sights? Byleth knew that children their age shouldn’t be so unfazed by witnessing such things, she knew that her own upbringing was extraordinary, and she didn’t want that for her students; yet, they became more and more like her each day. The minor woes of the world were nothing to those who had seen its worst. Looking back to how they had reacted to their first kills, she felt responsible for changing them in this way, and a small, selfish part of her wondered that if, in the future, they ever reflected on their days at the officer’s academy, they would blame their old professor for turning them into the calm, composed instruments of war they were becoming.

Sylvain had followed her to the audience chamber, and only once they stood outside the doors had he handed her the lance - without a word then, he departed, leaving her to face Rhea alone. The conversation with Rhea had been a short one - to Byleth’s relief, she had immediately relieved her of the lance, promising to return it to the Gautier household. Before Byleth could even deliver a full report, however, she had told her that what happened to Miklan was “divine retribution” from the goddess for the misuse of a hero’s relic. That shocked Byleth - she asked if Rhea had known all along that this would happen, and she told her that it was the fate of all crestless whose desire for power drives them to wield weapons not theirs by birthright. She spoke with such vitriol of those without crests, but there was something else that bothered Byleth still. Before leaving, she had asked Rhea - was she at risk of the Sword of the Creator consuming her in a similar way?

Rhea only responded with a delicate laugh, and a shake of her head. It worried Byleth; Rhea’s mood often changed quickly, and her smile never quite reached her eyes. She didn’t know if she could or even should trust her words fully, but it was all the response she was getting for now. Her anxieties still plagued her as she left the chamber, still weary from their long journey, to return to her quarters. To her surprise, Edelgard was waiting for her as she reached the foot of the stairs.

“Professor!” She jumped at Byleth as soon as she appeared.

“Yes, Edelgard?” Byleth was weary; considering they had both returned from the same trip, she wondered if her inability to match Edelgard’s energetic attitude was the age gap between her and her students finally starting to show.

“I was wondering something about Miklan, if you would indulge me?”

“Of course.” Byleth furrowed her brow - Edelgard hadn’t seemed too perturbed by the situation in the past few days, so why was she only bringing this up now?

“Do you truly believe that those who do not bear crests do not deserve the power of hero’s relics?” The question was a stark one, and it caught Byleth by surprise. She thought about it for a moment, and tried to answer truthfully.

“I do not think it is a question of whether one deserves to wield a hero’s relic,” she started, carefully picking her words. She had found it was all too easy to provoke Edelgard, and she wanted to avoid a semantical debate now more than ever, owing to her fatigue. “According to Lady Rhea, the power within a relic corrupts those who do not bear a crest. For their safety then, I suppose they should not wield the relics.”

“So you agree with the church - that only certain nobles should be allowed such power?”

“I’m not too sure.” Byleth shook her head. “I know it doesn’t seem very fair, but few things in this world truly are. If the alternative is allowing innocent people to suffer and die, then it’s best to protect them in any way possible.” She hoped this was enough to satisfy Edelgard for now.

“I… see. Very well, professor.” She simply turned to leave, but Byleth put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“I’m sorry. I know that… scene in the tower was difficult for all of us. Would you be able to tell the class to take the rest of the week off?”

Edelgard nodded, but didn’t turn back to her as she left. Byleth knew she had upset her, but she could hardly lie - the relics were too dangerous to be entrusted to those who could so easily be consumed by their power. She had always been a pragmatic woman, rather than a dreamer; she didn’t have ideals of how the world should be, or delusions of hope. Her upbringing had never allowed for such things, and regardless, she would never be in a position of power to be able to realise any ambitions she may have. Instead, she focused her efforts every day on affecting only what changes were within her power. She could protect people, she could defend others; in her eyes, these tangible acts of good were more influential to the people of Fódlan than the far-off dreams of a noble.

Still, she supposed, as she finally returned to her room to rest, it could do little harm to have a future emperor hold such ideals. If Edelgard wanted to strive to make the world more fair for common folk, and those born without crests, she could hardly argue; it was, at the very least, much better than the alternative. In time, maybe she would even find a way to change the way of things; maybe she would grow into her position of power, maybe she would find the solution she longed for. As long as she held the wellbeing of the common folk in mind, Byleth thought that Edelgard would make a fair ruler yet. But those days were still so far off; a distant, abstract future. She had her own current problems to contend with; she had promised to herself to no longer act as the church’s lackey, and yet once again her students had been put in harm’s way.

That evening, she struggled to sleep, despite her weariness; she had hoped for Edelgard and the other students to grow to fill their positions as heads of houses and noble leaders with grace, justice, and a sense of fairness. How was this even possible if, with every battle they faced together, she desensitised them more and more to the suffering in the world? What could Byleth do, as a professor, as a mentor, to guide them on the right path? And furthermore, how could she even be sure she knew right from wrong? Her own personal views were biased, based on her experiences growing up; an upbringing that had been far from normal. It was times like these that she missed Seteth’s company; with another helping hand to guide her students, she found it easier to understand their needs; easier to grapple with the monumental task of shaping Fódlan’s future nobility. 

Soon, she reasoned, she would have to summon all the patience and goodwill she was capable of, and try to repair their relationship. For now, however, the wounds were still fresh, and she had to bear the weight of her responsibilities alone. Her only comfort was the few days respite she now had from her duties; she hoped that she would somehow find the time to calm herself, before she once again faced her students in the classroom.

\- - -

The next day, Byleth had found herself almost involuntarily in the classroom, writing lesson plans and checking her students’ individual progress once again. For years, training had been her sole comfort, but since starting her new role as a professor, paperwork had become somewhat of a crutch for her; it made her feel organised and prepared; to add to that, it was something she could do no matter how weak her body felt, and she was still sore from days of travelling. Focusing on her work, the hours passed quickly, until a sharp knocking on the classroom door, left slightly ajar, startled her. Walking quickly to the door, the sound of her own footsteps echoed off the flagstones, filling the empty room; she opened it to find Ferdinand standing before her, wearing his usual confident grin.

“Professor! I had hoped to find you here.”

“Ferdinand?” Byleth couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “Is there something you need help with? You do know that lectures are cancelled for the rest of the week, right?” To that, he simply gave a loud, clear laugh; it sounded somewhat forced.

“Of course, I simply came here to ask you to tea.”

“Tea?” Byleth could hardly believe what she was hearing.

“Indeed! You seemed rather down upon our return to the monastery yesterday, so I have decided that some afternoon tea should cheer you up.” Byleth simply stared at him, unsure if perhaps he had gone completely mad. She had never taken tea with anyone in her life; that was not a pastime enjoyed by common folk such as herself. Despite her lack of response, Ferdinand continued talking, almost to himself. “You see, it is the duty of noble gentlemen such as myself to extend a hand to all in need. This naturally includes all those whose suffering is silent - nay, moreso - for it is only with the subtle and kind guidance of a noble-”

“Ferdinand.” Byleth interrupted him with a warning tone. She was hardly ever in the mood for one of his soliloquies on aristocracy, especially not when she seemed to be the subject of it. “I appreciate that you’re concerned for me, but really; I’m alright. Besides, I’m not a big fan of… afternoon tea.” Even saying the words felt foreign to her. She couldn’t imagine herself sat daintily picking at perfectly cut sandwiches and colourfully decorated cakes while enduring yet another of Ferdinand’s monologues. 

“Not a big fan - why, professor!” Ferdinand let out an exaggerated gasp, as if offended by her words. “Afternoon tea is for everybody; perhaps you have not yet mastered the art of polite conversation, or maybe you lack appreciation for the delicate floral fragrances of-”

“Ferdinand!” Byleth interrupted him once again. She was quickly growing irritated, but he didn’t even seem to notice how he insulted her.

“Ah, of course, professor, but if I may make the point - perhaps you simply have not been invited to a truly _delightful_ teatime yet? There is more still for you to discover, and I refuse to believe that there exists a single person who could not enjoy going for tea!” Byleth sighed to herself; there was truly no getting out of this one.

“I’ve never been invited to _any_ teatime until just now, Ferdinand. Truthfully, it doesn’t really interest me-”

“You have never-? Oh my, professor! Please allow me, Ferdinand von Aegir, to be the first! I ask, nay, I _insist_ that I may be the one to introduce to you the pleasures of a perfect afternoon!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“Absolutely not professor, this is of the utmost importance!” Something in his voice struck a tone with her, suddenly; despite his flamboyance, Ferdinand did seem truly earnest. It was clear that he was trying to cheer Byleth up, in his own hamfisted way. Taking a glance back at the papers still sat on her desk, she found herself lacking for good excuses; she knew she should be gracious for such offers, and as he had said, it was important to him. Still, somewhere very very deep down, in some dark part of herself that she had long hidden away, the prospect of partaking in such needlessly frilly and fancy pastimes excited her a little.

“Very well.” Ultimately, she had no choice in the matter. “I’ll go to afternoon tea with you.” Byleth couldn’t stop the heat from rising to her cheeks; accepting the offer made her feel a little ridiculous.

And so the two of them found themselves sitting in a quiet corner of the monastery gardens, sheltered from the cool wind that had blown in from the north. The afternoon sun still shone brightly in the sky, but provided little warmth . The leaves Ferdinand had picked out had an odd scent to them; it took Byleth some time to grow accustomed to the fragrant, spiced taste - cinnamon, perhaps? Admittedly, her palette was maybe not refined enough to be able to discern the flavour. Despite that, it warmed her up inside; she had never been one for tea, but this tasted almost nostalgic, and provided her with a strange sense of comfort.

She had expected Ferdinand to try and talk to her about the situation with Miklan, at the very least; if not, then she suspected that he would try to pry into her personal life, or ask why lectures had been cancelled for days. To her surprise, he broached none of the topics that she had feared - and even more shockingly, he refrained from yet another long-winded rant about “noble obligations”. Instead, he simply asked her thoughts on meaningless matters; the food served in the dining hall, how her newfound gardening hobby was going, baseless monastery gossip - Byleth didn’t have to think very hard to answer his questions, and found the conversation easy and polite.

She soon grew comfortable, and even found herself smiling as Ferdinand referenced the many in-jokes the class had formed over months of lectures. She finished her cup, and felt relieved when he poured her another. Byleth valued time spent alone; she was always under the impression that time spent around others - Jeralt excluded, of course - was draining. She found it bizarre that it took Ferdinand inviting her to afternoon tea, of all things, for her to discover that it was possible to simply spend time with somebody, talking about nothing in particular, absent-mindedly sipping tea and feeling relaxed. She was a little disappointed when the teapot ran dry; but she still found herself feeling uncharastically content in a way she hadn’t felt in an awfully long time.

Stretching as she stood, she watched Ferdinand start to clear away the dishes; a gracious host, just as she would imagine. She stopped him before he left.

“Thank you, Ferdinand. I had no idea afternoon tea could be so… relaxing.” He gave her a warm smile in response.

“Of course, professor, as I said - everybody enjoys a spot of tea, given the right company.” He gave her a little wink, which perturbed her - had he picked that up from Sylvain? “Why, the allure of a perfect teatime is enough to entice even Bernadetta from the dark recess of her room!”

“Wait, Bernadetta comes to tea with you?” It seemed so unlikely to Byleth, and yet she had to admit it made sense. The two sat together in class, and if Bernadetta had a question, she instead would ask Ferdinand to raise his hand for her - a not-so-cunning trick that Byleth didn’t mind, if it meant she could give the answers needed. If anyone could find a way to get her out of her shell, then it would be Ferdinand.

“Indeed; tea with a friend is a soul-soothing balm, don’t you find?”

“I suppose so,” Byleth answered, barely listening by now. If a simple cup of tea and light conversation were enough to dissipate her worries, surely the same strategy would work on her students. She already found herself planning it into her weekly routines; she could use the time to check on the students' wellbeing, as well as ease their anxieties about missions or exams. It seemed to be the perfect solution to her problems. 

She thanked Ferdinand once more before returning to her classroom, her confidence renewed. Noble life may be strange to her, but every day she spent in Garreg Mach, she learnt something new; much of which was surprisingly valuable to her. Armed with a new tactic, she began to redraw her plan for the next few months. As she did so, she couldn’t keep a small smile from forming; it had taken months, but finally, she felt as though she was beginning to master the art of teaching.

\- - -

It was only a few days hence, before Byleth had even had time to implement her new plan, when the next great tragedy struck. She was awoken early in the morning to a great banging at the door to her quarters; still groggy with sleep, she had crawled out of bed, reaching for her clothes; but the knocking came again, more urgent this time. There was something disturbing about the desperation she could hear in it that stopped her; she opted to open the door in her nightgown. It was still dark out; the sun had just barely started to rise, and before her stood the monastery’s gatekeeper. She was familiar with him by now, thanks to her many excursions; a gentle mannered young man, polite, but often a little too carefree. Today, however, he wore an expression of worry and guilt.

“Professor, thank goodness! We really need your help!”

“What is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. She could hear the drowsiness in her own voice, and bit her lips to try and hold back a yawn.

“It’s Flayn, professor. She’s missing.”

“Missing?” Byleth was still waking up, and she didn’t fully understand what was going on.

“It seems she was taken from her bed in the night, we can’t find her anywhere! Seteth is so upset, most of the knights are still out dealing with the western church, but we’ve mustered what forces we can,” he gestured behind him. “It just seems as if she’s completely disappeared!”

“Disappeared?” Byleth repeated his words again, still struggling to comprehend them.

“I just came on duty, and the night watchman told me he hadn’t seen anybody entering or leaving, so we think she’s still here, but there’s been these rumours professor, such terrible rumours recently, of this dark ghost prowling the village, and - well, we need you!” Byleth felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as her mind finally caught up. She decided to act before the dread could fully set in.

“Right, I’m on it. Wake the others - Hanneman and Manuela - quickly!” She shut the door in his face before he could even respond, and frantically tore off her nightshirt, dressing herself as quickly as she could in yesterday’s clothes. Her own bedraggled appearance didn’t cross her mind; as soon as she was changed, she grabbed the Sword of the Creator instinctively and flung her door open, running out into the cold autumn morning.

There she paused for a moment; she had very little to go on. The gatekeeper had told her that Flayn was still within the walls of Garreg Mach, but how could she be sure? She didn’t know who was already part of the search, how many knights were looking for her, or where they had already checked. In fact, she didn’t even know if there was anybody directing the operation; if anyone, that would be-

_Seteth._

Without pausing for a second thought, she bolted for the main building. There were already more knights milling around than there would usually be at this time of the morning - the rest of the search party, she had guessed. They were entirely aimless, however, none of them seeming to act with any sense of urgency. As she flung herself up the stairs to the faculty offices, she replayed in her mind every conversation, every moment where Seteth had been overprotective of Flayn, every time she had thought him paranoid or overprotective. She didn’t even have time to start processing her own guilt before she came face to face with the door to Seteth’s office, slamming it open.

Inside, Seteth was sitting behind his desk. She couldn’t see his face; he held his head in his hands. Byleth stood panting in the doorway, unable to catch her breath; she could barely manage one word.

“Flayn?”

At that, he finally looked up. He, too, looked as if he had left his quarters hastily. His hair was lank and still mussed from sleep, his shirt was buttoned entirely wrong, and he was without the circlet he usually wore; Byleth had never imagined that she would see him in such a dishevelled state. Worst of all, however, were the tear streaks staining his cheeks, and his puffy red eyes. To see him so utterly devastated - the man she knew to be so composed and unflappable - disturbed her deeply. He stared at her for a moment before answering.

“She’s gone.” His voice was cracked and broken. “I brought her here to keep her safe. I promised her I would keep her safe. And now she’s gone.” He was hopeless; he sounded so despondent. Byleth entered, and started to slowly approach him.

“When did you last see her?” She tried to soften the urgency in her voice, but she knew time was of the essence.

“We could have gone anywhere. I thought it would be safest here. She’s all I have left, and now she’s gone-”

“She’s not gone, Seteth!” Byleth couldn’t stand self pity at the best of times, but right now, she was faced with a dire situation, and she seemed to be the only one responding with any sense of pragmatism. She knew he was upset, but she also knew the only resolution was to find Flayn as soon as possible. “She’s not gone, no-one has entered or left Garreg Mach since last night. Now I need you to tell me, when did you last see Flayn?” She seemed to finally have his attention.

“Last night… I said goodnight to her, as usual. She was gone this morning.” 

“Did you see her enter her bedchamber? Are you sure she didn’t go for a walk?”

“I’m sure. She wouldn’t… I’m sorry. I don’t think I can be of much help.” The last words, he could barely manage, his voice was so raspy. He completely avoided eye contact, looking down at the desk instead; following his gaze, Byleth could make out the telltale signs of tear stains on paper. 

“Seteth?” He refused to look at her. There was no point trying to comfort him with words - she had always been terrible at that. Byleth had always spoken through her actions, and that now meant bringing Flayn back to him alive and unharmed. Still, for reasons unknown, she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave him like this either. She wouldn’t be able to focus on the task before her knowing he was alone and upset. “Seteth?” She spoke in a low tone, gentle, bringing her face close to his. A few seconds passed, but he finally raised his gaze to look her in the eyes.

“I will bring her back. Soon, she’ll be back with you, and this will be just a memory.” He stared at her, but didn’t respond. “Do you trust me?”

A drawn out pause followed, that lasted a little too long; finally, he slowly shook his head. Byleth’s stomach twisted into knots. She had expected that response, but it still hurt to hear, time and time again.

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m going to find her anyway.” With that she stood, and made her way towards the door. She looked back before she left; Seteth had his head in his hands once more, but his breathing was steady. She only hoped that her words had helped to put his mind at rest even a little, even if just for the moment. 

She felt his suffering as if it were her own. Byleth, too, had only one person in the world she could fully trust, one person who truly knew her; if her last family member were to disappear, she imagined that she would react similarly. Seteth, however, was composed under all circumstances, and despite their arguments, had spent months helping her and her class in so many ways. She would never have known where to begin teaching if it weren’t for him. If he was in pain, she felt compelled to stop it in any way possible - she kept telling herself it was for her class’ sake, but truthfully, she needed him more than anyone.

Byleth shook her head to clear her thoughts. Right now, she needed a clear mind, and a plan. She decided to head to the last place Flayn had been seen - her own bedchamber. Although Byleth’s own quarters were amongst the students, the rest of the faculty residences were in the main building, along with the archbishop’s quarters and the offices. She headed there, by now more than familiar with the layout of the monastery, and paused outside the door to Seteth’s suite. 

She tried the handle, and the door swung open; unlocked. It was so out of character for Seteth to forget something as simple as locking his own door that Byleth felt a pang of guilt; was she taking advantage of his emotional state? Quickly she suppressed the thought as ridiculous; she was there to search for information or clues, nothing more. Still, as she entered the room, dimly lit by the slowly rising sun, she couldn’t help but feel shameful about her own curiosity. Seteth wasn’t a very forthcoming individual, and she supposed she could find all sorts of secrets hidden away here; she knew she shouldn’t pry, but she had to at least search Flayn’s room.

His living quarters were simple and sparse; the furniture mostly matching that of her own room. There were two doors leading off the main room; the first, she noted as she opened it, clearly led to Seteth’s bedroom. Within was a great four poster bed (similar in style to her own, but much more extravagant), a dresser, and a desk adorned with messy piles of paperwork. Thinking it so unlike him to have such a disregard for cleanliness in his own quarters, Byleth started to approach the desk on instinct; she stopped short, however, of being able to read anything. She bit her lip. She knew there was likely nothing there that would help with her investigation, and yet, perhaps if she found a diary of some kind, she could discover so much; why he was so overprotective of Flayn, or the dangers he had hinted about Rhea being aware of, or his relationship with the other faculty members, or what he really thought of her-

The thought shocked her as it crossed her own mind. Did she truly care for the opinions of others so much? In a moment of lucidity, she stopped herself. This was the wrong room; there was nothing of use here. As she returned to the living quarters, however, a glint atop the dresser caught her eye; there sat the circlet Seteth usually wore, placed neatly atop a small cloth. To Byleth’s surprise, however, there sat next to it another circlet; similar, yet not identical. The second was smaller, and more elegant, more feminine in its style. She found herself drawn in, and as she admired it closely, she noticed that unlike the other, which was pristine, this was covered in a fine coating of dust. 

She was suddenly overtaken by a deep sense of unease, as if she had come upon something incredibly private and sacred. Quickly, she made her way out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Trying to clear her mind, she instead tried the other door; it was ajar, and it creaked slightly as she pushed it open. Instantly, she could tell this was Flayn’s room. Apart from the tell-tale fishing rod in the corner, the room was much messier than Seteth’s, and the bed was unmade. Examining it further, Byleth could see signs of a struggle; the sheets were twisted and kicked aside, landing half on the floor. So she had indeed been taken from her bed, then; abducted, but by whom?

Looking around the room, Byleth could make out no further clues. As she left, she instinctively pulled the door closed behind her, hearing it creaking once more. That stood out to her; albeit that Flayn’s room was a mess, would Seteth tolerate unoiled hinges in his own home? He was so easily perturbed by such minor annoyances, she could hardly imagine it; and yet it wasn’t really a clue. Still, something in her gut told her she should check the door hinges; doing so, she found that they had come away from the wall ever so slightly, as if the door was forced open. 

She quickly checked below the handle on the door to Flayn’s room, and found exactly what she was looking for; a broken locking mechanism, torn apart by brute strength. Checking the main door to their residence, she found the same thing; the lock had been entirely broken. She wondered if that’s why Seteth hadn’t locked the door; or perhaps, if he was too distressed to notice even this. The evidence she had so far pointed to a person of great physical strength taking Flayn from her bed quietly in the middle of the night; whoever they were, however, they hadn’t left the monastery yet. That meant there was still time to find Flayn.

_Or her body_ , Byleth thought grimly to herself. At least for Seteth’s sake, however, she had to hold out hope yet. Still, the alarm had already been raised; she was terrified by the thought that Flayn’s captor, within the walls of Garreg Mach and cornered, might attempt to destroy any evidence. She was running out of time; a single moment spent dawdling in idle thought brought Byleth closer to what she saw as an eventuality; Flayn coming to serious harm. The next step of her plan started to form in her head; ensuring the gates to Garreg Mach were locked, and questioning any of the knights that matched the description.

As she rushed down the long corridors, the sound of her boots echoing off the flagstones, she passed Seteth’s office once again. Something gave her pause; she had good cause to believe that Flayn was alive, at least for now; if she had struggled and been taken away, it’s unlikely that her captor wanted her dead. It wasn’t much, but it did bring some hope to her, and Seteth deserved to know. This time, as she approached his office door, she gave it a short, sharp rap, before entering unbidden nonetheless. 

In the short time that had passed since she last saw him, he had managed to wash his face. He still looked utterly dishevelled, but Byleth felt a surge of relief that he had stopped crying, at the very least. He stood quickly as she entered, his expression expectant; it was difficult to let him down, but she knew he would prefer to be kept informed.

“I’ve reason to believe she is alive, at least.” Byleth wasted no time on pleasantries. “But I haven’t found her yet.”

“Oh.” Seteth immediately slumped down in his chair once again, a little too violently. “I see.”

“The lock on your quarters is broken. You should get it fixed as soon as possible.” A long silence hung thick in the air as he looked up at her despondently. “Seteth…” Byleth wanted to say something, anything, to banish his hopelessness; she wanted nothing more than to bring back the sarcastic smirk that had plagued her for so long. She couldn’t lie, however, and it was difficult to find words of comfort, but she tried nonetheless. “I promise you that I-”

She was interrupted by a sudden clattering sound as the gatekeeper quickly rounded the corner, breathless. He almost barrelled into her, before stopping himself just in time.

“Professor! Seteth!” He choked the words out between deep breaths. “It’s Professor Manuela - she’s missing!” Byleth and Seteth exchanged a look, before she jumped into action.

“Has anyone seen her this morning?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t asked-” She interrupted him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Go back to the gate, and close it. No-one enters Garreg Mach, and no-one leaves, understood?” He gulped and gave a frantic nod, before darting off again. Once he was safely out of earshot, Byleth approached Seteth.

“Seteth, I know that you are only trying to protect her, but there are some things I need to know,” she started, her voice low, but with a dangerous edge. “What reason could somebody have to take Flayn alive?” He paused for a long moment before giving his response.

“Her… blood.” Byleth furrowed her brow.

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Her blood is… rare. It has special properties; properties that not many are aware of. It can be… dangerous, in the wrong hands.” Byleth had a moment of clarity; of course, that is why Flayn had been kidnapped rather than killed. If her captor wanted her for her blood, however, there was no guarantee she would be kept alive for very long.

“Does Professor Manuela also have rare blood?” She knew she was out of her depth on the subject matter, but she needed to ask nonetheless.

“No. I am entirely certain that whatever the reason for Manuela’s disappearance, it is not the same.” His answer raised so many questions for Byleth; she knew he was avoiding telling her the whole truth. Despite this, she trusted him; if he wouldn’t tell her the full truth even at a time like this, then it wasn’t necessary for her to know. If the extra information could save Flayn’s life, she was certain that he would have told her.

“Do you have any idea who could have done this?” Once again, she knew that she was prying, but she trusted him to give her any information that would be helpful. “Is this something Manuela is capable of?”

“Not at all,” Seteth’s answer came a little too quickly. “This must have been planned out long in advance. I have long kept Flayn’s blood a secret, and I was certain that nobody within the walls of Garreg Mach knew of it.”

“So, there is nobody you suspect?” She had hoped that now he had recovered a little from the initial shock, Seteth would have been a major helping hand in the investigation. Perhaps she had become too used to relying on him.

“There is something… A rumour.”

“What rumour?” It piqued her interest - Seteth was not the type to put much stock in baseless conjecture.

“A dark, masked figure prowling the village late at night, attacking innocents. The knights had investigated it only a few days ago, but found nothing. I had dismissed it as little more than a cautionary tale for children, but if there is any truth to it…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

Byleth thought back to earlier that day - the gatekeeper had told her of something similar, but she, too, had quickly dismissed it; she was still so used to common folk constructing such tales from her mercenary days. And yet, a memory stirred; on the day of the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth, an ominous figure had watched them. Edelgard had suggested not to engage, and indeed, the black horseman simply observed as they battled. She had felt as though she was being tested somehow, as if he was evaluating her; but by the battle’s end he had disappeared, and with more pressing matters at hand, such as Caspar’s injury, Byleth had been far too preoccupied to worry about anything that wasn’t putting her students in immediate danger. Could it be that the rumours of a reaper were true?

“Very well,” she nodded, trying not to let her inner panic show. “I’ll look into it.” She had only just made it to the door before his strained voice called after her.

“Byleth?” She stopped halfway out of the office and turned back to face him. He opened his mouth as if to talk, then hesitated; seemingly stopping himself. Instead, he settled on “take care.” She nodded, and slowly closed the door behind her. Seteth was so deeply unsettled, it rattled her. 

She took a moment, standing outside his office, to take a breath. She knew that she couldn’t search the entire monastery alone, but neither did she have much solid evidence with which to narrow her investigation. Glancing down the corridor, her eyes settled on the door to Jeralt’s office. Of course, she thought to herself; there was always at least one person she could rely on, no matter the circumstance. Approaching the captain’s quarters, she knocked once before letting herself in.

Jeralt looked up at her from behind his desk as she entered.

“Hey, kid. This about Flayn?” Byleth nodded. “The knights are already on the case. We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

“Actually, there’s something else. Manuela has also gone missing.”

“I see.” Jeralt furrowed his brow, and stroked his chin. “And you believe the two are related?”

“I don’t see how they couldn’t be,” Byleth sighed. She shut the door behind her, and approached Jeralt, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a lot going on right now, and I can’t handle it all by myself. I’ve already started looking for clues to Flayn’s whereabouts, and I know she’s still in the monastery; I’ve had the gatekeeper close the gates for now. But Manuela - I can’t search for two people at once.” 

“I understand.” His voice was gentle, as he stood and came close to her, patting her on the shoulder. “Closing the gates was a good idea. You’re on the right track. You keep looking for Flayn, and I’ll alert the knights about Manuela, got it?” She nodded, grateful to have his help without having to directly ask for it. He opened the door, gesturing for them both to leave, but as she walked past him, he stopped her. “Listen; you’re doing fine. I’m sure she’ll show up.”

Jeralt was never the most charismatic man, but his words comforted Byleth nonetheless. They went their separate ways, and suddenly she was alone once again, with nary a clue as to where she should be searching. With nowhere near enough evidence to accuse anyone, she began her search, hoping another clue would reveal itself.

Time passed all too quickly as she systematically searched every inch of Garreg Mach, starting with the Officer’s Academy. As unlikely as she was to find Flayn in any of the classrooms, she nevertheless began her search there. Then, she moved onto the students’ dormitories; knocking on doors, rousing late sleepers, and enlisting everyone she could into the search. She knew that the time for subtlety had long passed, and Flayn’s captor must surely be aware of the search efforts by now; if that was the case, then they had precious little time. Instead, they had to compensate with manpower, efficiency, and speed. 

However, Byleth’s plans started to fall apart as word spread amongst the students; they seemed to refuse to work with either the knights or the faculty. Instead, she was constantly being stopped by them, with fresh accusations; Flayn had a crest, and Hanneman may have been interested in studying it; Alois had been seen talking to her and joking with her a little too familiarly; Gilbert had been allegedly caught staring at young women; and so on. Of course, each new allegation beared looking into, and each one was in turn quashed by an alibi or with good excuse.

She started to worry that her students would view the staff in such a manner; was this just inherent mistrust of authority, or something deeper? She wondered if her students had become too sensitive to danger, that they would now start to see it in every friendly face; Byleth tried to reassure herself that since a young girl had been kidnapped from her bed, tensions were high, and this was simply the impulsive response to the morning’s events. Despite this, her students’ overzealousness soon bore fruit - a few had pointed the finger at Jeritza, and when she had searched for him, he too was nowhere to be found. She had raised the alarm once again, informing the knights that they were searching for three missing individuals now.

Panic began to spread as the new disappearance came to light; the rumours of a ghostly figure had everyone on edge, and search parties refused to split up for fear of being whisked away. A fear that Byleth thought entirely irrational; and yet, she grew more desperate by the minute. 

Hours passed, and by her account, every nook and cranny in Garreg Mach had been searched by someone - but Byleth refused to accept defeat. If they had yet to find Flayn, it was due to the carelessness of those searching, or lackadaisical effort on the part of the knights - she was fully prepared to look everywhere herself, if need be. By the time she had finished her thorough inspection of the cathedral, the sun had already set. A full day had passed, and she had no more information than she had that morning; and by now, the chance that Flayn was still alive was very small indeed. 

Part of her wanted to update Seteth - he deserved to be made aware of the evolving situation at the very least - and yet, another part of her was terrified to do just that. She felt scared of disappointing him; of being the bearer of bad news. She was afraid that she was at fault for this, that if she had only done something differently; searched a different place, or picked up on certain clues, she could have found Flayn by now, or at least a lead as to her whereabouts. Still, she didn’t want to return to him without concrete evidence one way or the other. Instead, she resolved to continue her investigation, however long it may take.

As the night wore on, Byleth grew ever more frantic still. The sun set fully, and bathed in darkness, she continued by torchlight; long after most of the residents of Garreg Mach had gone to bed, she found herself in stranger and stranger locations still. The greenhouse, the market, even the stables; she left no stone unturned. And yet as the sun began to rise, she felt herself losing hope. For over a day she had been searching to no avail. 

She began to replay moments in her mind - she hadn’t spent much time with Flayn, but she was an earnest and kind girl, that much was clear. Each time they had spoken, she had been all smiles and positivity, and Byleth felt naturally protective of someone so good-natured and naive. Of course nobody deserved to be kidnapped, but Manuela and Jeritza were adults with years of experience in their fields, and could defend themselves. Flayn didn’t stand a chance on her own, and the thought of her, defenseless, facing some dangerous captor haunted Byleth. She couldn’t imagine how Seteth must be feeling.

As the second day of her search began, she found herself becoming increasingly frustrated with the knights; as she became fatigued, concentrating on the search became far more difficult. Anyone that she deemed to not be fully invested in the manhunt received an earful from Byleth. Deep down, she knew that picking fights meant wasting time, but she could barely keep her eyes open after over a day of constant exertion. Becoming more and more demoralised by the minute, she was sure now that it was too late; there was little chance of Flayn still being alive, and yet, she must find _something_ \- some small clue, some evidence as to what had happened. Manuela and Jeritza barely crossed her mind as she panicked.

It was late in the afternoon of the second day of searching when Jeralt finally came to put a stop to her ventures. She had been in a loud debate with Alois about draining the lake to search it for almost twenty minutes, when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and spun around quickly, only to find herself face to face with her father. Still sleep-deprived and anxious, Byleth didn’t care if she was lashing out at all - she needed her answers.

“Have you found anything new?” Her voice was strained and broken from overuse. Jeralt kept his hand on her shoulder, shaking her a little.

“Actually, I think you should go report to Seteth. Nobody has spoken to him since yesterday, and he could do with an update.” Byleth felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She knew this was Jeralt’s way of diffusing the situation without causing more fuss, but it still hurt to be sent away like a child. What’s more, she still couldn’t bring herself to face Seteth with the news that his sister was likely dead.

“I can’t,” she croaked.

“You’re the only one who can. And besides,” he said, giving her shoulder another shake, “it saves me a job. Would you do that for me?” Byleth nodded glumly. “Thanks, kid. I’ll take over from here.” As she left the scene at the lake, she had never felt so utterly defeated.

Her stomach twisted into knots as she traipsed the familiar route back to Seteth’s office, once again knocking at his door, but this time, she waited for an answer. When none came, she knocked again, and called through the door.

“Seteth… it’s me.” There was no response, but she thought she heard a shuffling noise coming from within. It was natural that he wouldn’t want to speak to anybody, least of all her - perhaps if she just spoke through the door, her job would be a lot easier. “Jeralt said… he said I should update you. There’s no real news. We haven’t found her-”

All of a sudden, the door opened in Byleth's face. Seteth stood above her, puffy-eyed once again. Without a word, he stood aside to let her in, and gestured to a comfortable chair in the corner of the room. Byleth sat, sinking down; the first time she had taken even a moment’s rest in well over thirty hours. Seteth broke the silence.

“Jeralt told me you were searching all night.” Despite his appearance, he sounded more composed than he had yesterday.

“I haven’t found anything yet, I’m sorry.” She suppressed a yawn, but could still hear the tiredness in her own voice. “I shouldn’t stay here long, I should keep searching-”

“Have you eaten?” Seteth turned away from her, but there was palpable concern in his voice that surprised her.

“Yesterday, when I was searching the dining hall, I took some food to eat while I worked. Don’t worry, I didn’t waste much time.” She stifled yet another yawn - now that she was finally sat down, it was becoming more and more difficult to stay conscious.

“Have you eaten _today_?”

“No, I was planning to pick something up when they were draining the lake.”

“Draining the- excuse me?”

“She’s not there, Seteth.” Byleth struggled to form coherent sentences, barely managing to mumble out her words. “She’s definitely alive, I know she is, but in the lake, maybe there were some clues, but I argued with Alois, and then Jeralt was there, and then-” she couldn’t hold it back any more, and her hand flew to her mouth to cover her yawn.

“I see.” He still stood facing away from her, but there was an odd edge to his voice that she couldn’t quite gauge. “Well, I can’t have you searching in this state. I’ll retrieve some food for us both while you wait here.” He spoke quickly; before she had time to object, he had already left his office.

Sat there entirely alone, she felt a little awkward. Ordinarily, Byleth would be tempted to snoop, to find out what Seteth was working on, to see if he had any files on the students he counselled; but she was far too tired to consider those things. Her seat was so comfortable, and Seteth would only be gone for a few minutes, so surely she could rest her eyes, just for a moment.

After almost two days of constant toil and struggle, the darkness engulfed her quickly.

\- - -

When she opened her eyes, the room was dark. Slowly coming to, her vision focused on a single, lit candle, placed carefully upon Seteth’s desk. There, he sat, pouring over some manuscript, frantically scribbling, as a few fickle rays of sun shone in from the window behind him. Realising where she was, she quickly shot up.

“What happened? What time is it?” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and saw that he had stopped writing.

“It’s morning. You slept for around twelve hours.” Seteth looked and sounded haggard; there were dark circles under his eyes like she’d never seen before.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“I couldn’t.” His response made Byleth feel guilty; she had dozed off, completely unawares, while he had suffered hours upon hours of agonising uncertainty, unable to sleep; watching over her nonetheless.

“I-I’m sorry, Seteth, I-” She stammered over her words, but he interrupted her.

“It’s alright. You must have needed it.” His voice was gentle; far more so than she deserved, thought Byleth, considering the circumstances. He gestured with his quill towards a plate that had been placed in front of her, covered with a delicate muslin cloth. “I brought you something to eat.”

“R-right,” she stuttered, taken aback by the small display of kindness. “I’ll get back on with the investigation.” She started towards the door before pausing, and picking up the plate he had left her. “Thank you, Seteth.” He didn’t respond to her as she left, shutting the door softly behind her.

Once again, she made her way to Jeralt’s office; at the very least, he could update her on the search, if he was even awake at this hour. She raised a hand to knock, but seeing that the door slightly was ajar, she pushed it open; inside, she found that Jeralt was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, she considered, it was still too early for him to be at his station yet. Feeling numb from all that had happened, and still not having fully awakened, she sat at his desk, setting the plate before her, and pulled the muslin aside. Seteth had picked out a variety of miniature meat pies for her; they were arranged into neat rows on her plate. She sighed to herself, feeling ashamed that she had allowed herself to rest at this, of all times.

As she ate, she considered the evidence so far. Her mind was slowly clearing, and she winced as she recalled yesterday’s events; she had been so sleep-deprived, she had picked fights with just about every knight she had come across, flinging wild accusations, and doubling back on herself. Her incompetency could have cost them everything; it could have cost Seteth everything. Assuming that somebody had taken Flayn in the night; why, then, had Manuela and Jeritza also gone missing? Could one or the other be responsible? She still had so many questions; she felt as though she were missing a piece of the puzzle. Seteth had seemed so resigned; had she failed in her mission? Had he given up all hope?

As she finished her meal, her thoughts were interrupted by Jeralt entering. He raised his eyebrows as he saw Byleth sat in his place, and she quickly stood.

“And where have you been? If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were missing too, you know.”

“Sorry,” Byleth mumbled, her mouth still full. “Fell asleep.” Jeralt made a low rumbling sound that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Good thing too, you were in a sorry state yesterday.” He walked over to the desk and deposited a small stack of papers. “Actually, I had just sent Leonie off to look for you. I’ve been up all night questioning the knights, and as it turns out, one of them saw Manuela on the day of the disappearance; says she was carrying Jeritza’s mask. Of course, his quarters are locked, and I would’ve broken in myself, but,” he looked at her pointedly, “I know when to rest, and let somebody else take over.”

“So Jeritza is implicated?” Suddenly, Byleth was almost vibrating with energy - could this be the missing link she had hoped for?

“It seems so. You should go - take your students as backup though, just in case. If you leave now, you may still catch Leonie-”

Byleth didn’t need to be told twice. Still lugging around her sword, she rushed downstairs, and sure enough, found Leonie on the way to her quarters.

“Oh, professor! I just spoke to Jeralt, he told me to-” Leonie’s greeting was interrupted as Byleth grabbed her arm, frantic once again now that she had been given new direction.

“Help me wake my students - tell them they’re needed at the knights’ quarters - hurry!” Leonie paused for a moment; but then nodded once, and without question, made off to the student dormitories. 

Byleth followed, and within just a few minutes, their loud voices and banging on doors had most of the students awake. Collecting her class together - not willing to risk the lives of any of the other students, for she did not fully know their capabilities - she had them armed and ready to face whatever threats lay ahead within record time. 

She led them to Jeritza’s quarters, Leonie still following, and between them Petra and Ferdinand had managed to burst open the door with brute strength. Byleth was the first to enter; slowly, cautiously she looked around the darkened room, hoping for a clue. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a figure materialised on the floor before her. Ferdinand had been the second to enter, and it was he who called out.

“Manuela!”

In an instant, her students rushed past her, crowding the body. She was thankful when she heard Edelgard cry out; “she’s alive!” With all the strength she could muster, Edelgard pulled the slumped figure of Manuela onto her shoulders, and started to move towards the door. In a deceptively calm tone, she told Byleth “I’ll take her to the infirmary,” and before she had a chance to process her words, there came more cries from amongst the students.

A few of them had been investigating a bookshelf on the far side of the room; pushing her way through, Byleth finally found exactly what she had been looking for; what her fruitless search had failed to pick up on. Before her, the bookshelf was slightly ajar; a dark, unlit passageway extended from behind it, and a cool breeze swept up from within. After days spent feeling desperate and helpless, Byleth felt her hope returning.

She led the rush down the passageway, no longer caring about how much noise her students were making behind her. It came out into a great vaulted chamber, with a complicated construction of walls and iron bars; she had heard the rumours of the abandoned, twisted passages and chambers that supposedly lay beneath the monastery, but to behold them was truly haunting. 

The chamber was barely lit - just enough for her to make out the forms of two bodies laying on the floor behind a series of bars across the room. In the dim flicker of the torches, she could just about make out the telltale green of Flayn’s hair.

Just as quickly as she had come upon the chamber however, a dark ghost seemed to materialise before her. She recognised him immediately - the black knight from before. Without pausing to talk, and fueled now not only by hope, but by a vengeful rage, Byleth and her students prepared to fight.


End file.
